A Tour of the Heart
by SomewhereApart
Summary: They say if you really want to understand someone, you have to understand where they come from.
1. Whatever You Say

Author's Note: I've been a little obsessed with country music lately, and it gave me the urge to put Calleigh and Eric on a porch swing. In trying to figure out how to make that happen, I ended up with the story you're about to read.

This marks the beginning of the new multi-chap, the end of my ADD "several WIPs at once" syndrome, and most likely the end of the daily update schedule that was adopted for the end of "Sofitel." For a number of reasons, "Tuck" is being put on hold until further notice, but I'm hoping this piece will tide y'all over enough that you forget (teehee). So without further ado… "A Tour of the Heart."

* * *

"All I'm saying-"

"Oh, I know what you're saying, Eric!" she bit, slamming the pan she'd just washed into the dish drainer with a clatter.

"No, you know what – I'm not sure you do. So why don't you quit _interrupting me every five seconds and let me say it!"_

She spun, brandishing the wooden spoon she'd just picked up with the intention to wash, jabbing it in his direction. "Because I don't want to hear it, Eric! You're wrong. Okay? You're _wrong._"

"All I'm saying," he began again slowly, deliberately, closing his eyes to rein in his patience, "is that a vacation might be a good idea, considering you've worked six doubles in the past four weeks. You need some time off and you know H will-"

"What I _need_ is a supportive boyfriend," she shot back, turning back to the sink and reaching for the sponge again. As a result, she missed the way his frustration ratcheted, lips tight, nostrils flaring, eyes sharp.

"I have been _nothing but_ supportive the past few weeks, Calleigh! And you have been moody and bitchy and-"

"Oh, I'm bitchy now," she scoffed, giving the spoon a final rinse and tossing it into the drainer as well. "You sure know how to-"

"_Will you shut up and let me finish!_" he shouted, finally losing his temper with her.

She whirled on him again, her own ire up and boiling. "Don't you ever yell at me!"

"_THIS!_" he spat at her. "_This_ is why I think you need a vacation! Because you have been working your ass off for the last month, and when you aren't exhausted you're combative as hell! Everything I say you bite my fucking head off, and I'm sick of it, Calleigh! _This isn't you._ You need a break."

"Maybe what I need a break from is _you!_" she hollered, so angry now that her fingers were shaking, her breath heaving. How dare he. _How dare he_.

She'd hit the mark, though, because he shut his eyes again, hands fisted at his sides, jaw clenching. When he opened his eyes a moment later, she could see the hurt swirling around the edge of his fury, and it almost, _almost_ made her feel bad. "Okay," he said carefully, quietly. "I'm going to go now. I'm going to go now, before you say anything else you don't mean, and before I get pissed off enough to do the same."

"Oh, I meant it," she insisted darkly.

"No, I don't think you did, so I'm going to go. And we're going to talk about this later, when you can be logical about it."

She sneered and resisted the urge to grab the spoon again and pitch it at his head. "Oh, get out."

"Gone," he assured, lifting his hands in surrender and stalking out of the kitchen.

Calleigh didn't move until she heard the door slam a few minutes later, then she turned back to the sink, trembling fingers nearly dropping the next dirty dish she snatched up. Needed a fucking vacation. Like she wasn't perfectly capable of deciding when she needed a break. Idiot man. Miami had been a powder keg for half of June and most of July, repeated bouts of gang violence, a triple homicide in the Gables, a postal worker who went postal. She wasn't sure if it was the relentless heat wave, the holiday, or if everyone had just been possessed by raging, homicidal demons, but it had made work long, and hellish, and she was tired. But not so tired that she needed a fucking vacation, and who was he to insist that she did? Just because they were lovers, just because they spent more nights together than apart, he thought he knew every damned thing she needed. Ridiculous.

When her phone rang, "Danger Zone" blaring from the kitchen table, she growled and slapped the faucet off. She dried her hands as she crossed the kitchen, muttering, "Yeah, you're on the highway to the fucking danger zone, you stubborn-" She flipped it open without looking and lifted it to her ear. "What part of 'get out' did you think meant 'call me?'"

There was a moment of silence before a wholly unexpected voice came over the line. "Lambchop."

"Oh. Dad." Crap. Refocus. "I'm sorry, I thought you were… Daddy, now isn't really a good time. Can I call you later?"

"No, lambchop, this can't wait." He sounded tired, and sad, and Calleigh felt anxious nerves wiggle their way into her belly to tangle with the seething temper.

"What's wrong?"

"Your Granny Clara is dying, sweetheart, and she's asking for you."

Calleigh felt her stomach drop, all the nerves and anger slamming to the floor like a slipped bowling ball. "How much time do I have?"

"Leave now. Come tonight."

"I'll be on the next flight out," she promised, flipping the phone shut without so much as a goodbye and closing her eyes. Suddenly her idiot boyfriend was the furthest worry from her mind.

"_I know you can hear me  
__But I'm not sure you're listening.  
__I hear what you're saying,  
__But still there's something missing.  
__Whether I go, whether I stay  
__Right now depends on  
__Whatever you say."_

**--"Whatever You Say"  
****Martina McBride**


	2. Out of My Mind

The first thing Charlotte Duquesne noticed when she pulled up to the curbside pickup at New Orleans International Airport was that her sister-in-law had lost weight. The second, that she was irritated, and the third, that she was tired. Not sleepy-tired, though. No, Calleigh looked bone-tired, the kind of soul-sucking exhaustion that doesn't come from air travel and a night of bad news. She knew better than to think Calleigh would want her help, so she flipped the automatic lock on the doors and waited for her to toss her carry-on in the backseat, shut the door, then climb into the passenger seat.

"Watch your feet," Charlotte instructed. "There's a plate of Adelaide's fried chicken on the floor."

Calleigh didn't respond, but she did look down, eased in around the foil-wrapped dish and stretched to tuck her purse behind her seat. "This is new," she remarked, and Charlotte patted the Pilot's steering wheel gently as Calleigh finished buckling in.

"Well, can you see me with a minivan?" she drawled, arching abrow and finally earning a smile.

"No, I can't say that I can," she replied, tugging her belt behind her shoulder then reaching for a hug that was tight and a little desperate. Charlotte didn't question the need, responding in kind. "It's good to see you, Char."

"You too, babygirl." One last squeeze and Calleigh sat back, situating herself as Charlotte pulled out into the light airport traffic. "That chicken is for you, by the way – well, us, but you look like you need it more than I do."

Calleigh paused where she'd bent over to pick up the plate, arching a brow at Charlotte. "Oh, do I?" she asked, voice frosting just a little before she hefted the dish and peeled the foil back.

"Mmhmm. You're lookin' a bit on the thin side." Tact and decorum, while staples of Southern femininity, had never been a driving force between the two of them. Politeness was well and good, but you needed a few first-rate women in your life to tell it to you straight when you were being foolish, and Calleigh and Charlotte had been serving that purpose for each other for more than a decade. No need to stop on account of impending family grief. Besides, Charlotte had been sent on a mission and this was no time to let down Kenwall Duquesne.

"Well, thanks ever so," Calleigh muttered, tucking into the chicken regardless. She was still tense, still edgy, and Charlotte had no desire to spend a car ride with a cranky Duquesne. She'd learned better in her years with the family. Best to just have it out now.

"What's got your panties in a pucker?" she asked, pulling onto the highway.

Calleigh glared for a second, then shook her head. "It's a four and a half hour drive, Charlotte."

"I know that, Calleigh D," she told her brightly. "I just drove it."

"For no reason," she insisted, setting down her chicken with a huff. "There was no reason for you to drive all the way from Darnell to pick me up when I could just rent a car and drive myself."

"It's quarter to midnight, you haven't driven these roads in years, and you know your daddy doesn't like when you drive upset." She reached over and tore a hunk out of a piece of chicken, popping it into her mouth after adding, "You're enough of a mad woman on the road as it is – I'm surprised they'll even let you rent a car."

"I'm fast, not reckless."

"Please, Calleigh," Charlotte scoffed. "Your lead foot has a lead foot. And you'd be worryin' about gettin' there too late, so you'd drive even faster than normal."

"But not fast enough that anyone should worry," Calleigh insisted again, typical Duquesne stubbornness. "You didn't need to spend nine hours inthe car."

Charlotte just shrugged. "You'd do it for me."

Calleigh must have realized the truth of the statement, because she stilled, frowned slightly, then relaxed back into her seat. "Yeah. I guess you're right."

"Usually am," Charlotte smirked haughtily, earning a light chuckle from Calleigh. "Now tell me what's wrong."

"I just told you," Calleigh began slowly, and Charlotte could hear the slow creep of irritation in her voice again. Hitting a nerve.

"No, you didn't. Not everything." Off Calleigh's sigh, Charlotte added, "And in the interest of full disclosure, I feel I should let you know that your daddy requested I pick you up, on account of he got, and I quote, 'and earful,' when you answered the phone, and he figured if anyone could get you to spill what was bothering you in four and a half hours, it was me."

Another sigh, this one ripe with irritation, and Charlotte couldn't help smirking. Nothing irked Calleigh more than someone spreading her business around before she was ready. "I suppose it was too much to hope for that he'd keep his yap shut about that."

"Well, you know how he worries about his little Lambchop."

"Yeah," she scoffed. "I do." Another sigh, this one sadder, and when had Calleigh become such a sigher? "It's nothing. Eric and I got in a fight tonight. That's all. Actually… I think I might have broken up with him."

"Oh, Calleigh," Charlotte sympathized, heart aching for her sister. She'd really been stuck on this one, all sweet and smitten when she talked about him. He was supposed to be the good guy, the long-haul guy. Losing him would be a sucker-punch to both the heart and the ego. Then, her brain caught up with the second half of Calleigh's confession. "Wait - what do you mean you 'think you might have' broken up with him?"

"I don't really want to talk about it," she muttered, turning her face toward the window while she continued to pick absently at her chicken.

"Calleigh Jo. This is me. Talk."

"Charlotte…"

"Four and a half hours, Calleigh," she reminded pointedly.

Another sigh. "Things were said; not particularly nice things. I don't know. It was an argument."

"Does he know you're three states away right now?"

"No."

Charlotte rolled her eyes. Typical. "You're headin' into grief and not only do you not bring your honey to stand by you, you don't even tell him you're goin'?"

"Charlotte. If I wanted another confrontation tonight, I'd go back to Miami and call Eric. Dad called two minutes after he walked out; what was I supposed to do?" Charlotte opened her mouth to tell Calleigh that she was supposed to suck it up and break the silence, however brief, but she never got the chance. "But I don't want to talk about it. There are more important things going on. So can we just...not?"

"Fine," Charlotte relented, reaching to steal another hunk of chicken. They'd need gas before they left New Orleans. And something with caffeine. And a toilet. Not necessarily in that order.

Silence hung in the SUV for a minute while Charlotte tried to remember where she'd seen that gas station on the way in. Just as she navigated a turn, Calleigh spoke up again. "How are my angels?"

"Oh, you mean my monsters?" Charlotte grumbled, shaking herhead. "They're nuts right now. Can't get enough of Grandpa Duke – probably because he insists on showing up with lollipops and ice cream cones on a regular basis. I swear, your daddy is going to be the death of me. Sugaring up those children – as if they need it."

Calleigh's soft laughter made Charlotte smile. That was progress, at least. "Has he been staying with you, or…?"

"No, he's been with your mama. For better or worse, y'know?"

"Except when he's drinking."

"Except then, yes," Charlotte confirmed, ignoring the slight edge in Calleigh's voice. She'd always been the daddy's girl. "But he's not drinking right now, just hurting. And she loves him. She always has, you know that."

"Yeah. I just…" She sighed heavily, wearily. "I'm just afraid that if she's his rock through this, they'll think they should get back together and work things out, and… it'll go poorly."

Charlotte chuckled ruefully and shook her head. "Y'know, I think you are the only person I know who doesn't want their estranged parents to work things out."

Calleigh shook her head, and supplied immediately, "Tracy Miller."

"Okay, her daddy put her mama in the hospital for three weeks when she was twelve. She doesn't count."

With a shrug, she excused herself, "You said-"

"I know what I said," Charlotte scoffed, with a shake of her head. "And you know what I meant. Your parents didn't divorce because they didn't love each other, or because they were violent; they divorced because they couldn't live with each other."

"Exactly. So what makes them think it would work out now?"

"Nobody said they do think that," Charlotte reminded, continuing, "But, Calleigh, people change. Your dad has changed. He hasn't had a drop to drink, and his _mother_ is dying."

"Yet. He hasn't had a drop to drink yet," Calleigh clarified, and Charlotte rolled her eyes and tightened her grip on the wheel. She was only slightly mollified by the weariness that crept into Calleigh's voice as she continued, "He can't give it up, Char. He tries, and he tries, and he always drinks again. He had a good life going in Miami. Working again, steadily, hadn't been drinking – I think he may have even had a date a few months ago. If they try to work things out, he'll move back here, and leave all that behind. And then he'll get bored with his life, they'll bicker, he'll drink, and they'll both be heartbroken again."

"Well, its good that you're optimistic," Charlotte muttered as she changed lanes.

"Realistic," Calleigh corrected tersely.

"Look, honey, I'm not saying you're entirely wrong here, but..." She trailed off, sighed, tried to gather her thoughts into sentences that wouldn't start an argument. "Marriage changes you. It changes your relationship with a person, even if it doesn't work out. And it's nice to have someone to come home to at the end of the day – even you know that."

She heard the short, offended laugh, and realized where the phrase had gone awry even before Calleigh spoke up. "'Even _I_ know that?' What is _that _supposed to mean?"

"I meant you're not married, Calleigh, not that you have some kind of social defect. Jesus, you're testy tonight. Were you like this before your little tiff with your boyfriend?"

She was completely unsurprised when Calleigh shut down, her voice going carefully even, face turning toward the window again. "Okay, you know what? I think we should just drive. In silence."

That sounded like a damned fine idea, so Charlotte clipped a short, "Suit yourself, Cranky McGee," then fell silent. Calleigh's answer had told Charlotte all she needed to know anyway; in her experience, denial generally served as its own affirmation. But she decided not to press it for now, not tonight. Later. When they'd both slept, maybe. For now, she just drove, the silence hanging in the car until she spotted the gas station sign and headed for the off-ramp. "I'm pulling off for a pee break. You wanna sit with the car or stretch your legs?"

"I peed at the airport," Calleigh replied quietly.

"Want a Coke?"

"No."

"Valium?" Charlotte drawled, a hint of irritation in her voice, earning a quiet glare from Calleigh. "Okay, you just sit tight then." She pulled into the gas station, killed the engine, took the keys, and reached for the door handle. "There's a pillow in the backseat if you want to nap. I'd recommend it; a bad attitude isn't really appropriate for the deathbed."

Calleigh didn't answer, but somewhere in the time it took Charlotte to fill the tank, empty her bladder, and stock up on caffeine and Twizzlers, she knocked her seat back, torqued half onto her side, and conked out.

Four hours later, Charlotte was exhausted and caffeinated to the point of jitters; Calleigh was still out like a light. They were close, though, so Charlotte reached over and shook her sister's shoulder gently. "Calleigh."

Nothing.

Another shake. "_Calleigh_."

Still nothing.

Charlotte judged the distance to the nearest house, deemed it safe, and laid on the horn. Calleigh jerked awake, startled, and Charlotte couldn't help the self-satisfied smirk. Served her right for the attitude she'd pulled earlier in the evening.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Calleigh brought her seat up and twisted to stretch her back, grunting in discomfort. "How long?" she rasped, blinking heavily into the night-soaked landscape.

"We'll be to Darnell in a minute. Another five to Pioneer."

"Okay," she murmured quietly, dropping her head to the headrest, arms crossed tightly together as if she was cold or miserable. Charlotte figured it was probably a combination of both, so she turned the A/C down a notch and held her silence.

When they pulled up to the gates of the Pioneer Fields Retirement Community, Calleigh began to fidget, and by the time they parked, she already had her seatbelt undone. Charlotte shut the car off, but was stopped from reaching for the door handle by Calleigh's hand on her arm.

"Charlotte…" She looked back at Calleigh, found her looking contrite and a little confused. "I'm sorry. About earlier. I'm just… I don't know what's wrong with me tonight."

"Don't worry about it, honey," she assured, settling her hand over Calleigh's and giving it a squeeze. "Now, let's go on in."

Callleigh pulled back, nodding, then took a deep breath and stepped out of the car as if she was going to the gallows. Charlotte knew the feeling.

.

"_The truth is so unkind,  
But I'm good when I'm out of sight,  
Best when I'm out of my mind."  
**-- "Out of My Mind"  
SHeDAISY**_


	3. A Place For You

"Well, if it isn't the prodigal daughter," Bryan murmured quietly, offering Calleigh a smile as she settled into the chair on the other side of the bed.

"And the prodigal son," she replied, smiling back at her brother before taking her grandmother's hand. She held it gently, her heart squeezing at the feel of paper-thin skin and too-delicate fingers. Somehow that was what made her realize it had been too long since she'd been home. Her Gran had never been frail before. She'd been vibrant and strong, part demure Southern Belle, part spitfire. A lot like Calleigh herself, actually, which wasn't terribly surprising. Calleigh couldn't say whether the similarities were something in the Duquesne gene pool, or whether it was just that she had idolized the woman in this bed so much, spent so much time with her while she was growing up that her personality had rubbed off.

Whatever it was, they'd been kindred spirits, and Calleigh couldn't quite imagine life without her bi-weekly phone calls with Gran. Who else could she call to find out who cheated at Thursday night bingo, or just how much of a challenge it might be to make blackberry jam for co-worker Christmas presents? Who was going to teach her kids to make grits and swear through a smile? Was she supposed to do that all on her own? And how – _how? _– could she live the rest of her life without being able to escape to the old house with the long porch, and the colorful gardens?

She jumped when she felt a hand brush her arm, then shook her head sheepishly. She'd almost forgotten Bryan was in the room. "I'm sorry, I… got lost in my thoughts."

He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, tucked her hair behind her ear. "Happens to the best of us. What were you thinking of?"

"The house," she admitted quietly. "I haven't been home in…." she trailed off, shook her head. She didn't want to admit quite how long it had been; she felt guilty enough for her absence already. "I just can't imagine that house not being Gran's."

He studied her for a minute, his brow knitting slowly into a scowl as if he was trying to figure something out. She had a sudden memory of sitting on Gran's porch with glasses of lemonade and math textbooks – she was twelve, Bryan was nine – trying to explain long division while he crumbed chocolate chip cookies all over the notebook and scowled at her just like this. Apparently some things never changed.

"Twenty-seven," she told him resolutely, and the scowl twisted into a confused frown.

"What?"

She shrugged, smiled. "You have math face. Twenty-seven seemed like a good answer."

Bryan chuckled, shook his head. "No, I'm just debating whether I should run a theory by you."

"A theory?"

"Mmhmm."

"Shoot," she invited.

"There are envelopes on the nightstand – well, _envelope_ now – from Gran, for each of us. We weren't supposed to open them until after she died, but Tuck and Rob and I got good and well drunk last night and opened ours early. She told each of us what we got – thought a will was too impersonal for her grandbabies."

Calleigh's gaze had shifted to the night-table and the rose-printed envelope with her name penned in looped script, but her attention had caught halfway through her brother's sentence. "You brought Rob?"

"Yeah," he shrugged, though there was a tension to it that didn't go unnoticed. The immediate family may have adjusted to Bryan's "lifestyle choice," as her dad put it (which she thought was crap; Bryan had about as much choice in the matter as she did in her eye color, but that was neither here nor there), but there was still a good portion of the extendeds who considered Bryan and Rob to be living in sin – and not in the way her cousin Carrie was with her boyfriend Jeremy and their three kids. She could think of at least three people off the top of her head who might end up making the funeral reception less than cordial if Rob was there. "I love him. He loves me," Bryan explained simply. "He wants to be here for me."

"You know Uncle Dean will have something to say about it."

"Yeah. I do. Won't be the first time. I need him here, Calleigh." His gaze slid back to Gran, still sleeping peacefully. "Besides, she'd never met him, and I wanted her to know him before she went."

Calleigh was hit with a stab of regret so sharp she actually looked down to see if there was a physical cause for the pain that had lanced through her chest. Bryan had reminded her of who else had never met Gran – and never would: Eric. They'd talked about him plenty over the years, but they'd never met. And never would. And for some reason that was just agonizingly heartbreaking. "Yeah," she managed, her voice sounding thin and pained. "I get that."

He studied her again, then asked carefully, "Eric working?"

"Not tonight."

"He didn't come with you."

"We're not—we had a—things are… strained right now," she finished lamely, blinking back tears. "I didn't…" She trailed off, unable to bear the sudden sympathy edging his gaze, because Bryan had always been able to see through her just a little more than everyone else. Most everyone, anyway. He'd know exactly why her eyes were tearing, why her fingers were trembling slightly. Nothing pained quite like lost opportunity. She couldn't go down that road tonight, though, so she switched the subject. "What was your theory?"

"Nobody has the house yet," Bryan told her, letting the other subject drop. "Tucker thought he might get it – he's here, he has the kids, but… no go. There are more of us grandkids, but you were always Clara's favorite. If any of us get that house, my money's on you."

"That doesn't make sense," Calleigh insisted with a shake of her head, anxiousness and dread warring in her gut. "I'd never be able to use it. It would just sit empty."

"You'd use it if it was yours; you know that as well as she would. And even if you didn't spend much time here, you'd make sure it was kept up." He sighed, raked a hand through sandy blond hair. "That house has been in the family for generations, Cal. Tyler and Gracie would tear it apart if Tucker and Charlotte moved in, and you know how hard it is for Rob and I to come back. Carrie and Jer are settled in with the kids, they're not going to move them across state lines to the sticks. Jackson and Stacy are moving out East, and Carolyn is only twenty-four; she's living it up in Atlanta. And she can't afford the upkeep. You have the means, and the love, and the history for that house."

Her gaze strayed to the envelope again. "I guess…"

"But no one knows for sure," he added with a shrug. She nodded, but kept silent, her brain spinning with the possibility, with how she'd juggle finances to manage the upkeep, with how she could swing time to come home now and then if the house was really hers. It was a welcome distraction from everything else jumbling up her brain, and after a few minutes of silence, she caught Bryan letting go of Clara's other hand and stretching. "I'm gonna get some coffee. You want?"

"Yeah," she murmured, offering him a distracted smile as he pushed himself from his chair and headed out to the living room.

The rest of the night was a blur, over-caffeinated, over-tired, over-emotional. Her Gran woke for a while, and they'd talked a little. She'd insisted Calleigh read her letter now, early, before she passed, and Calleigh had carefully torn the envelope open to find that Bryan had been dead on: the house was hers. She'd cried, and Gran had patted her hand and reminded her that there was "little to be sad about when a woman dies at a ripe old age. Much more to be sad about when a woman wastes the years she's young." The advice had seemed pointed, and for the last time they'd shared that look of acknowledgement that had passed between them so many times before. And then Gran had murmured that she was tired, and before long she was asleep again.

At exactly 8:27 that Saturday morning, Clara Mae Duquesne breathed her last, and all Calleigh really remembered was the way her father's arms had crushed the air out of her in a tight hug, and the way her own heart had broken. Someone – Rob, maybe? – had poured her into a car and brought her to the house that was hers now. Calleigh had climbed the stairs on legs that felt Jello-wobbly, bypassed the guest bedroom that had been hers so often as a child, and collapsed, fully-clothed, onto her grandmother's bed and into a deep and dreamless sleep.

.

"_There is a place for you beyond this space and time  
That can cool the fires burning in your troubled mind.  
There'll be no crying there, there'll be no fear of grief  
But there is joy and there is laughter and there is sweet relief."_

**--"A Place For You"  
Jennifer Nettles Band**


	4. Not Ready to Make Nice

**Author's Note:** As always, credit for Cubano goes to the fabulous Bella7.

* * *

Eric had decided to give her the weekend to cool down. She hadn't meant most of what she'd said, he knew that, but there was nothing wrong with giving Calleigh space. Sometimes space was all she desperately needed to get her head out of her ass. So he'd given her the weekend. He'd resisted the temptation to call, and stopped himself from dropping by unannounced. He hadn't even texted to apologize (which he'd wanted to, despite the fact that he'd been right, damnit). He wanted to talk about it in person. Besides, he figured if he waited until they were at the lab, they were much less likely to get in another screaming match.

So now it was Monday, and he was headed to his first call-out of the day – a stabbing in Coconut Grove. He wasn't sure if she'd be there; he wasn't sure if he _wanted_ her to be there. He wanted to work things out, absolutely, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to do it over a dead body.

Thankfully, he'd been rescued by fate: Natalia was stepping out of her Hummer just as he pulled in. It wasn't too much of a surprise. It was already 10:45; Calleigh had a reputation for being an early riser and usually got the first call-out. There'd been a drive-by this morning; she was probably knee-deep in casings by now.

"Hey," he greeted, as Natalia rounded the front of her Hummer and stopped to stare at him, brows knit with confusion.

"Hi… I'm surprised to see you here."

"Why?" he chuckled. "It's a crime scene; I'm a criminalist."

"No, I just didn't figure you guys would be back so soon," she clarified – or at least, that seemed to be her intent, but it had the exact opposite effect on Eric. "That's a pretty quick turn-around for a funeral."

Funeral? Why would he be at a funeral? "Natalia… What are you talking about?"

Suddenly she looked just as confused as he did. "Did you not go with Calleigh? When she called and asked me to feed the cat I just assumed…"

"Go with Calleigh where?" he demanded, tightening his grip on his kit. She was gone? She'd left town? And she'd called _Natalia_ to feed Cubano??

"Louisiana." The confusion on her face turned to realization, and Eric watched as Natalia pulled away slightly. It was the look of anyone who realized they'd just spilled a Duquesne secret – never a good thing. "You have no idea what I'm talking about."

He pressed his lips together, shook his head, not sure if he should be pissed or incredibly concerned. "When?"

"She called Friday night." Friday night. The fight. The whole time he'd been giving her space, she'd been… well… giving him_ a lot_ of space, apparently. "I just figured you were going with her, if she was asking me to feed Cubano. And…"

"And?"

"Her grandma is dying. I just… assumed you'd go with her."

"Her grandma – Clara??" Jesus, Clara? Clara was dying? He knew she'd been sick, and Calleigh had been worried, but dying? Calleigh must be a mess. And she hadn't said a thing.

"You really had no idea?" Natalia asked cautiously, and Eric shook his head, feeling horrible.

"We got in a fight on Friday. Haven't spoken since." He needed to call her. He needed to talk to her. He needed to _go_ to her, damnit, fight or not. "I'm sorry – I know we need to process this scene, but I need to call her. Now."

"Yeah, of course," Natalia insisted, gesturing toward the house. "I'll go get started. You take your time. And tell her I say hello."

"Yeah, I will," he muttered distractedly, setting down his kit and fishing out his cell phone. He punched her speed dial number (she was 2, mom was 1), and listened to the hollow ring once, twice…

**-/-**

Calleigh stood outside the church where she'd spent a good many Sundays as a child, wearing a black dress that just made the summer heat and humidity worse. The funeral was scheduled to start at ten, and at 9:45 the day was already muggy and uncomfortable. She supposed it was fitting, because "discomfort" pretty much summed up the myriad emotions roiling through her. Grief, pain, a certain sliver of acceptance and maybe even a drop of gratitude (it could have been worse, after all. It could have been long and painful, or violent and bloody). All of those rolled together to make her feel acutely uncomfortable.

She knew she should go inside and find her seat next to her parents, but she couldn't bear it yet. She hated funerals. Hated especially the way she felt before them. After… Well, they served their purpose for Calleigh. They were part of the process, part of accepting and moving on. She always felt a little steadier once she'd tossed a rose or a handful of dirt and watched a casket sink slowly into the earth. Not better, necessarily, but steadier. But the pocket of time in between death and burial, that was the hardest for her. The freshest, the most raw.

It probably didn't help that she had spent those days surrounded by her Gran's things, in her Gran's house. Her house now. Most of the things would end up hers, too, she figured. A few had been willed out, but many would stay. She hadn't decided yet if that was a comfort or not. She'd been too busy helping with the funeral arrangements (and distracting her father as much as possible) to give it much thought.

So here she stood. Waiting for the last possible moment to head inside, watching family she hadn't seen in years file in and hug and steel themselves against tears. Bryan and Rob stood a few yards away, talking quietly. She'd become acutely aware over the last forty-eight hours that she was the only of Kenwall Duquesne's children who wasn't paired off. Hell, even her parents were a unit these days, though she couldn't tell if it was romantic or not. And then there was Calleigh. Alone.

She had a moment of bitter anger (followed by acute guilt) that Clara had picked this damned weekend to die. She couldn't have sped it up a little? Kicked the bucket when Calleigh was still paired off and pleasant, instead of now when she and Eric were in this nebulous gray area of whatever they were. Not speaking, that much she knew. He hadn't tried to talk to her, and she hadn't wanted to talk to him. So that was fine. That was okay. Lonely, but okay.

Bryan stiffened suddenly, reaching for Rob's hand and leading him inside; Calleigh didn't even have to look up to know whose car had just pulled up. Uncle Dean, dad's brother. They were alike in a lot of ways – both kind men at heart, both a little too fond of fermented drinks – but one had learned to adjust his viewpoint when faced with a gay son, the other hadn't been willing to make the same concession for a nephew. It made family gatherings… interesting.

"Batten down the hatches," came a familiar drawl on Calleigh's right, and she looked over to see Charlotte sidling up to her. In their almost-matching black dresses, with their blonde locks – Charlotte's a touch darker and shoulder-length, Calleigh's longer and lighter – pulled back into mirroring half-ponytails, Calleigh and Charlotte could easily pass for blood today. It was fitting, she supposed. They were family. And speaking of family, Charlotte's was in tow. Or most of it, anyway – Tucker and little Tyler (who wasn't so little anymore, at age 7) in somber suits. Only two year old Gracie was missing, passed off to a sitter.

"Here comes Hurricane Dean," Calleigh finished quietly, taking hugs from first Charlotte, then Tuck, and finally Ty, who she squeezed extra tight and murmured a quiet hello to. He scratched his nose, and gave her a wave, and Calleigh figured he must have been schooled in proper funeral behavior. Tyler wasn't exactly known for quiet and manners.

"Honey, take Tyler on inside and get our seats settled," Charlotte requested "I'm going to talk Calleigh for a few."

Tucker nodded, then pulled Calleigh into another hug, tighter, but short. "Give him hell, CJ," he urged into her ear, before pulling back and guiding his son into the church.

Calleigh just shook her head slightly, then turned her attention to her uncle as he made his way toward them.

He didn't waste any time, skipping the customary hug to greet the women with, "I see your brother brought his-"

"_Dean_," Charlotte warned, in her best on-the-edge-Mom voice.

"It's not the way things are meant, Charlotte," he insisted stiffly.

"It's the way things are," she reminded. "And today isn't about them. And it ain't about you. It's about Clara. And so help me, if you start somethin' at your mama's funeral, I don't care if you are my uncle-in-law, I will take you out back and beat you senseless."

Calleigh pressed her lips together to fight the smirk. Leave it to Charlotte to threaten physical violence against a man whose mother had just died.

"Wouldn't that be startin' somethin'?" Dean questioned, with a raise of his brows, and for a second Calleigh watched them square off, light eyes locked on dark. And then the humor slowly began to filter in, and after a minute both were smiling just a little. "I still think it's rude to bring him here."

"Not about you," Charlotte reminded. "No go on in. If you're late to your own mama's funeral, she'll be spinning in the casket."

Calleigh watched the hurt flicker in her uncle's eyes, just under the amusement, and reached out to squeeze his hand. He gave a crushing grip in return, and used it to pull her into a hug, finally. "It's good to see you, Dean."

"You too," he muttered against her hair, before easing her away.

"But if you mess with my baby brother today, I will remind you just why I am the leading ballistics expert in the state of Florida."

He smirked, a little sad, a lot resigned. "Because your uncle Dean took you hunting with the boys, that's why. That first rifle you shot was mine, girly girl, and don't you forget it. But fine. No comments, no nothing – today. For Mama. But after today, I intend to speak my mind as I see fit."

"And nobody would be able to stop you if they tried," Calleigh insisted, giving him a little shove. "Now go."

"You skippin' the service?" he questioned as he took a step back. "I didn't think you'd fly all this way to stand out front of the church."

"We'll be along in a minute," Charlotte insisted, just as Calleigh felt her purse begin to vibrate. She thought she'd set the phone on silent, but apparently not. Damnit.

She pulled it out and froze, staring at the words on the screen: "ERIC CALLING." Her mouth pulled into a scowl, and she debated for just a second whether she should answer. He'd probably figured out by now that she wasn't at work. If he was good, he'd figured out where she was. Still… she wasn't up for it right now. And she didn't have time. With a sigh, she pushed END and sent him to voicemail.

"Eric?" Charlotte asked cautiously. She'd tried to broach the subject a time or two since Saturday, with no success.

"Yeah."

"You should talk to him, Calleigh. At least tell him where you are, what you're doin' here. You owe him that."

"I don't owe him anything today," Calleigh muttered, tucking the phone away again and heading into the church without another word. She'd deal with him later. She'd deal with everything later. But today was for her, and her family, and their grief.

"_I'm not ready to make nice  
I'm not ready to back down  
I'm still mad as hell and I don't have time  
To go round and round and round."  
**--"Not Ready to Make Nice"  
The Dixie Chicks**_


	5. Tennessee

Calleigh lay awake in the full-sized bed that had seemed so huge when she was a girl, less so now that she regularly slept in a queen. The air conditioning in Gran's old house – Calleigh's house now, she was still trying to wrap her head around that – was on its last leg, running only in fits and starts. It was out right now, and the oppressive Louisiana heat was leaking in through her window, the fan aimed at her bed stirring the warm air just enough to cool the sweat dewed on her skin. And, apparently, enough to disturb the brown tabby cat currently curled on the pillow next to her in an attempt to escape the fur-ruffling breeze.

"Sorry, Jasper," she murmured, lifting heavy fingers to scratch between his shoulders and work up a purr. "But it's hot."

For a brief moment, she wondered what he would do now that Clara was gone, but then she remembered that it had been quite a while since her Gran had lived in this old house, and he'd made his way somehow. It was easy to forget that the house had been mostly vacant for much of the last year when everything was still in its place, when the lawn was still kept trim and the garden weeded, when the end tables had all been dusted and the floors washed.

But that was Gran. Just because she wasn't living in the house didn't mean it shouldn't be kept up. No, ma'am, your home is your face to the world, whether you're living in it or not. Calleigh thought of her own carefully decorated apartment – that Clara had never seen – and felt a sudden well of grief. Tears sprung to her eyes, unbidden but not entirely unwelcome. Not here, in the dark, alone. She did her best crying like this – in the hours between midnight and dawn, just her and a cat. Usually it was Cubano who served as her confidante, but tonight Jasper would have to do.

She turned onto her side, scratched behind his ears. "What am I supposed to do with this place?" she murmured, voice thick with tears. "She wanted me to have it, but I can't keep it up. Well… I can, but… I can't enjoy it. I can't live in it. I could rent it out, so you have someone to keep you company, but… It's Gran's house. It's my house. I don't want strangers in my house, moving things around, changing things."

Jasper offered no advice, no answers. He just curled into a tighter ball and purred louder.

With a heavy sigh, she rolled onto her belly, tugging her tank top up so the fan could work its meager breeze over her sweat-slicked back. She lay there for a while, listened to the steady whirr of the fan, the rhythmic chirping of bugs outside, Jasper's low rumble. She had a moment of overwhelming déjà vu – the summer she turned thirteen, spending weeks with Gran to escape the now-constant fights between her parents. She'd been kissed quite properly that evening, sloppy adolescent tongue and all, and lay awake for hours, giddy and excited, while the cat – Gregory then – had purred his congratulations.

The flash of memory, so long stored, brought with it a rush of sensation. The scents of her grandmother's perfume, of the blooming rose her grandfather had left on her night table, of her own strawberry lip gloss. The feel of the quilted pillowcase beneath her cheek. Gregory's so-soft fur.

Sam Harrison's lips on hers, wet and unsure, and fumbling, his teeth scraping her lip on accident. She'd thought it was wonderful at the time. Wonderful and… a little slimy. She knew better now. Knew better what it felt like to be thoroughly and skillfully kissed. Just wet enough, just confident enough, a nip of teeth – intentional now.

She felt another pang of loss, but not for Clara this time. For Eric. She hadn't truly missed him until just now, hadn't let herself. But all of a sudden, she wished he were there, wished Jasper was edged out to slink off for a sofa or an empty bed because another hot body had taken his spot. Strong arms, smooth skin, that low bedroom voice that calmed and riled her simultaneously. After the funeral, she'd decided she would wait to talk to him, wait to call. She'd be home soon enough, and they could work things out then, in person. It was never right over the phone.

But she missed him. Missed the way he took up space, the way he knew what she needed even when she didn't. The thought crossed her mind before she could help it, followed by a stab of dread that maybe he'd been right, and she'd have to grovel. Maybe. She didn't know. It didn't feel like he was right, but at this point, she didn't know what she felt about much of anything. She hadn't had time to sort it all out for herself yet. Too focused on her family, on funeral arrangements, on keeping the peace between Bryan and Dean while discouraging peace between her dad and the bottle. She'd allotted the flight home for sorting out what had happened with Eric.

If she had to make excuses later, she'd blame the dark, the empty house, the loneliness, and that relentless squirm of anxiety over his welfare for the way she rolled and reached for her cell phone, blinking against the harsh brightness of the screen as she rolled back to his last text: "Call when you can. I love you. I hope you're doing okay."

Her fingers moved without thought, clicking out a response, a peace offering: "I'm not ready to talk yet. But I love you too. And I'm alright."

The phone buzzed in her hand before she could put it down. Another text, from him: "Okay. I'm here if you need."

She felt tears spring to her eyes again, her chin quivering, and when the phone vibrated with another message – "I'm worried about you." – she gave into the impulse and pressed "TALK."

He picked up immediately. "Hey."

"Tell me you love me," she whispered, hoping that keeping her voice low would mask the tears.

"I love you, Calleigh." He sounded sleepy, but that was no surprise considering the time.

"Thank you. I just needed… I needed to hear that. And now I need to go."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm sad," she admitted quietly.

"I wish I-"

"I have to go," Calleigh interrupted. She didn't want this to turn into a long, drawn-out talk. Not tonight. "I can't… I can't do this conversation right now."

"Calleigh…"

"Please. Not tonight."

"Calleigh, please don't shut me out," he asked her evenly.

"Eric, I spent the day at a funeral, it's late, I'm tired. I just… needed to hear your voice."

"Will you call me tomorrow?"

She didn't answer right away, didn't like the idea of making up over the phone, or of, God forbid, having him draw her out the way he did so well and have her end up crying on his shoulder – or not, on account of his shoulder being three states away.

"Calleigh?"

"I don't want to do this over the phone," she told him softly. "I'll be home soon, okay?"

It was his turn to hesitate before finally sighing, "Okay," and telling her he loved her again.

"I love you too," she breathed, and something about saying it, about hearing it, made her feel more steady, more whole. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

She ended the call, set her phone carefully aside again, then pressed her face into the pillow and took a slow, deep breath. The bed still felt too empty, too lonely, but she would manage. She didn't really have any other option at the moment.

"_Maybe I was much too selfish,  
But baby you're still on my mind.  
Now I'm grown and all alone,  
And wishing I was with you tonight."  
**--"Tennessee"  
The Wreckers**_


	6. Only What You Make of It

"I don't know what's wrong with her," Charlotte huffed, scrubbing a plastic Disney princess plate that had been Gracie's at breakfast. "She's not sick. No fever, happy as a clam. In fact, I think she's quite pleased with herself. She seems tickled pink that she's pooped _three times_ before ten AM."

Calleigh smirked and fiddled with the edge of her napkin, wondering at the fact that this particular brand of mom-talk wasn't off-putting in the least. In fact, aside from the dull ache of sadness and the low thrum of anxiety, she felt okay today. More settled. It was a welcome change. "Maybe she does it on purpose, just to drive you crazy," she teased her sister-in-law.

"I'd just bet," Char grumbled, slipping the plate into the dish rack and fishing what looked to be the matching sippy cup out of the soapy dishwater. "Two years old and already searchin' out ways to drive me up a damned wall."

"Well, she's dad's problem now," Calleigh assured, trying to picture her father changing diaper after diaper for the rest of the day. She'd spent so little time at home that she had only dim memories of her dad with toddlers, but he seemed so good with Gracie. Natural. He seemed happy here, which was comforting and terrifying all at the same time. But what wasn't these days?

Conversation lulled as Charlotte worked on the dishes and Calleigh nudged the last of her eggs around her plate with a fork. A minute later, Charlotte asked as casually as she could manage, "Did you call your lover yet?"

Calleigh's fork stilled, her spine straightening, and she eyed the back of Charlotte's head for a moment before choosing to evade. "Why do you call him that?"

She turned, quirked one eyebrow at Calleigh. "...Is he or is he not your lover?"

"Well, yes," Calleigh sighed, "But-"

"But what? I see no problem with the title." She turned back to her dishes. "Answer the question."

Figuring she'd either have to fess up or endure an afternoon of questioning, Calleigh decided to screw it and go with honesty. "Yes."

"Really?" Princess cup safely in the dish rack, Charlotte nudged the water off despite the several dishes still in the sink, and turned to give Calleigh her full attention. "How did it go?"

"Well, we didn't really... talk," she admitted, shifting her gaze back to her plate and scooping up a small forkful of eggs. She wasn't particularly hungry anymore, but it gave her something to busy herself with.

Even with her eyes on her plate, she could almost see the way Charlotte's brow lifted again. "You called, but you didn't talk?"

"Not really, no."

"Well, either you spoke to the man or you didn't, Calleigh."

Calleigh sighed heavily and let her fork settle on her plate with a soft clink. "Did I speak to him? Yes. Did we work anything out? No. It was... a short conversation."

"How short?" Charlotte demanded, humorless, making Calleigh wonder (and not for the first time) if Charlotte was supposed to be a sister-in-law or the tough-love mom her mother never managed to be.

"Short."

"Get-it-over-with-during-a-commercial-break-short, or...?"

"Honestly?" She got another quirk of brows in response, which she took to mean something along the lines of "duh." "You'd have a few commercials left in that break."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why so short?"

Shrugging, Calleigh picked her fork up again, fiddling with it absently. "I told him I didn't want to talk about it yet. Not on the phone anyway."

"Oh for the love of God, Calleigh. Throw the man a bone."

"I'm not ready to talk to him yet," Calleigh excused. "I've been busy with other—"

Charlotte cut her off with a shake of her head. "That big ol' brain of yours is perfectly capable of doing double duty. Hell, quadruple probably isn't out of the realm of possibility for you."

"Regardless, I don't want to work things out over the phone. I'll be home soon; it can wait."

With a scoff and a shake of her head, Charlotte rounded again and knocked the water back on, reaching for another plate and surprising Calleigh by asking, "When did you get to be so damned selfish?"

"Excuse me?" she questioned, hackles rising.

"Being in a relationship is about two people working things out, Calleigh," Charlotte explained, voice ripe with impatience. "It is not about one person throwing a snit and being childish."

Well, that was about enough of that. "Okay, you know-"

"No," Charlotte cut her off, still scrubbing at her dishes. "You listen. You and I listen to each other, remember? It's what we do. So you listen. That man loves you, and he is reaching out, and you have shut him out at a time when I'm guessing you need a shoulder to lean on. I know I do. Tucker does. Bryan does. So get off your high horse and stop actin' like you don't need anyone. And don't for a second discount that man's need to be there for you – something you have wholly denied him since the minute your daddy called you." It wasn't until that moment that Calleigh had really considered that her grief might call up need in Eric and not just herself, and she felt suitably guilty over that. But apparently, Charlotte wasn't done. "And Calleigh, in all the years I've known you, you've been cool as a cucumber. You get emotional, sure, but you don't get snippy like this. So unless he cheated, or you cheated, suck it up and knock it off." She finished her dish, plunked it into the drainer. Calleigh sat quietly and resisted the urge to 'get snippy.' "What in the hell was that fight about anyway?"

"He thinks I need a vacation," Calleigh answered, with a roll of her eyes.

"Do you?"

"No," she insisted firmly, much like she had several nights ago in her apartment when the subject had first come up. "I'm fine. I've been working a lot lately, but... I'm fine."

"Yeah, you sure seem fine," Charlotte grumbled sarcastically.

"It's not like I _asked_ the fine people of Miami to go on murdering rampages," Calleigh bit, fingers nipping at her napkin and ripping little tears around the edge. She'd had just about enough of everyone thinking they knew what she needed better than she did.

"Doesn't mean you have to be the one to clean up the mess."

"Actually, I do," she pointed out. "It's my job, Char."

"There are other ballistics experts in that lab. Some of them even competent, from what you've told me. They don't need you workin' yourself to the bone all summer when you could be snuggling with your honey on a beach somewhere," Charlotte reasoned.

"I can't go with Eric. IAB would be all over us booking the same vacation dates." There were other reasons, but those were none of Charlotte's damned business."And whose side are you on anyway?"

"Yours," Char declared, before adding, "You should join me over here; it's lovely."

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

Sighing, Charlotte turned away from the sink and ordered, "Stand up,"as she grabbed a glass and headed to the fridge.

"What?"

She pulled a pitcher from the fridge, and filled the glass with lemonade. "I said 'stand up.' You as deaf as you are stubborn?"

"Y'know, I don't really appreciate-"

"Oh for Christ's sake, Calleigh!" she exclaimed, her temper wearing thin. "Just stand up."

With a huff, Calleigh pushed herself from her chair and stood, hands on her hips as she raised her brows expectantly. "Well? What now, mistress?" Charlotte just handed over the glass, then mirrored her stance. Calleigh waited for her to say something; she didn't. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Hold it."

"Hold it?"

"Hold it."

"...Hold it."

"Mmhmm."

"For how long?"

"How long do you think you can?" Charlotte half-wondered, half-challenged, and Calleigh decided she'd had just about enough.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, moving to set the glass down before Charlotte's sharp "don't you dare," made her pause.

"I'm trying to make a point here, Calleigh, and you're going to hold that glass in that hand until I've made it."

"So make your point, Charlotte," she demanded. "I'm not getting any younger."

"That glass isn't too heavy, right?" Char asked casually.

Was she joking? "No, I don't suppose so," Calleigh muttered slowly, thoroughly done with this little exercise.

"No problems holding up the weight right now?"

"It's a glass of lemonade, Charlotte." Calleigh was fairly certain Charlotte had gone completely round the bend. Maybe the kids had finally made her insane. A shame, that, she made good company when she wasn't being pushy.

"It is," she agreed. "But if you were still standin' here with it an hour from now, that arm would be pretty sore, don't you think?"

"I guess..." This was clearly going somewhere, but Calleigh'd be damned if she knew where.

"And if you were still here at midnight, you'd probably wish you could cut the damned thing off, right?"

"I don't see the point you're trying to make."

"Of course you don't," Charlotte muttered with a roll of her eyes."This glass, my dear Calleigh, represents your troubles. You can carry them just fine for a little while, but given enough time they start to weigh on you. They pull you down, they make you tired, and sore, and sour. All that man of yours is asking you to do is put the glass down before your arm falls off. Set it down, pick up a suitcase, and go."

"The glass isn't that heavy yet," Calleigh reasoned easily, mentally berating the analogy as she resisted the urge to shift the cup to her free hand.

"Calleigh." It was the sudden gentleness of her voice that cut through Calleigh's resolve. "If it wasn't, would he be fightin' you over it?"

Calleigh frowned, and lowered her gaze to study the ice cubes bobbing in the glass. She had a point there.

"Put the proverbial glass down, Calleigh," Charlotte told her."Call your man, tell him you're rock dumb. And think about stayin' here for a while. There's a lot to go through in that old house, and knowing you, I'd bet you've got years of vacation saved up."

"I miss him," she admitted softly, cupping the glass with both hands now.

Charlotte shrugged, reasoning, "There's room in that house for both of you."

"Internal affairs-"

"Just call him, sweet pea."

Sighing, Calleigh sunk into her chair again before nodding and lifting the glass for a sip. "Thanks, Charlotte."

"Anytime, bonehead."

_._

"_Sometimes life comes at you hard,  
And it's easy to let it drag you down…  
…__It's only what you make of it,  
And you make it so hard on yourself."  
**--"Only What You Make of It"  
Little Big Town**_


	7. So Small

Calleigh had spent a fair amount of time on tire swings growing up. There had been one in her back yard, so old that the rubber was beginning to crack. When it got bad enough that it started to pinch at the backs of her thighs, her dad had finally replaced it, grumbling something about rowdy boys and roughhousing. She'd spent so much time on her brand-new swing that she'd smelled like rubber for the better part of summer.

As she slipped her legs through the swing in Charlotte's back yard, lemonade clutched carefully in one hand, cell phone in the other, she wondered where that girl had gone. Not that she'd been particularly carefree as a child – it could be a challenge to be all hugs and butterflies in the Duquesne home – but she'd been freer. Lighter. More confident, maybe. With a sigh, she pushed the thought aside, bracing her toe against the ground to still the tire swing and balancing her glass precariously on top while she dialed Eric's number.

She'd waited a while to call, trying to time it with lunch when he might have some free time. Sure enough, he picked up after the first ring.

"Hi," he greeted, and she could hear the cautious surprise in his voice. "I thought you, uh... You said you weren't going to call."

"Yeah," she murmured, steadying her glass and watching condensation bead down the surface and settle into the tire tread. "I changed my mind."

"Why?" he asked, then seemed to think better of it. "You know what? It-"

"Charlotte," she answered, ignoring his backtrack. "She seems to think I'm being selfish, and not myself." Calleigh sighed heavily and offered what amounted to an admission that she'd been wrong: "She thinks some time off would do me good."

Eric hesitated, silence hanging on his end of the line for a moment before he asked carefully, "What do you think?"

"I think you were right," she told him, and she could hear him release a breath he must have been holding. "And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. I was… angry, and frustrated, and… not myself."

"I know. You've been 'not yourself' for a while now."

"Mmhmm." She took a slow sip of lemonade, leaving it at that.

"I wish you'd talk to me," he told her quietly, and she was really listening now, so the hurt in his voice came through again. Her heart ached a little for him, and she watched her toe swirl through the patch of dirt below the swing as she debated how to answer that.

"Not on the phone," she finally answered, knowing it wasn't what he wanted to hear, but if she was going to talk, she wanted it to be in person. "But we'll talk when I get back."

"Okay," he accepted, and if it disappointed him, she couldn't tell. "How long are you staying?"

"I don't know," Calleigh admitted, sipping from her glass again. "My Gran willed me her house, so I have a lot to go through, but… it's not as if…" Taking a deep breath, Calleigh swallowed against a bubble of grief, her voice a little wobbly when she spoke again. "It's not going anywhere."

"You love that house," he murmured, and she noticed his voice had gone low and soothing, the way it always did when she was upset and he was trying to comfort her. Of course usually that also involved strong arms holding her, and his smell all around her, and his lips on her brow or in her hair. The stab of loneliness and longing that hit her was startling in its intensity, and it forced words up and out of her before she could help them.

"I miss you so much. I wish you were here."

"I can come," he offered immediately, without hesitation, and somehow his unfailing devotion – even in the face of her… intolerableness lately – calmed her heart and filled the empty places just a little.

"IAB," was all she told him.

"You've been gone for a few days, Calleigh," he assured. "It won't look like we're on the same vacation. I'll take the rest of the week off; we can both come back on Monday. It'll look normal."

"It won't," she insisted softly, though without any of the combative heat she'd had in her kitchen a few nights earlier. "I'll just come home… tomorrow, maybe the day after."

"Calleigh…" he pleaded gently. "Take the vacation. You need it. _We_ need it. Let me come to you. I'll help you go through everything."

She had a feeling he didn't just mean the boxes in the attic or the photo albums on the bookshelves, and she found herself teary again, her chin quivering. "I'd really like that," she said quietly, shakily, before continuing, "But I still don't want us to get-"

"I'll handle it," he interrupted, insisting, "Let me talk to H, okay? We'll work it out. You need the time, and I need to be there. I want to see you, and I want to meet your family."

She thought of Clara, of the missed opportunities, and found herself nodding. "Okay," she relented, finally. "Can you come tomorrow?"

"Even if I have to drive it, I'll be there tomorrow," he promised, and she felt a slow smile spread across her face.

"Jackson is closest, but you'll have to connect."

"I'll work it out," he assured, and she wished she could see him, wished she could touch him right now. "I'll call you later with the details, okay?"

"Okay. Eric?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

Calleigh could almost hear the grin in his voice when he answered, "I love you too. I have to get back to work, but I'll see you tomorrow. I promise."

"Alright," she answered and as they said their goodbyes and hung up, she caught sight of Charlotte watching her from the back porch.

"You ready for lunch?" she called, lemonade pitcher in hand again, and Calleigh had a sneaking suspicion that her sister had been debating whether to saunter out and offer a refill as a cover for eavesdropping.

"Be right in," she answered with an amused roll of her eyes.

As Charlotte disappeared into the house again, Calleigh managed to disentangle herself from her tire swing, realizing as she did that she felt better. Freer. Lighter. _Good_.

And suddenly starving.

.

"_When you figure out  
Love is all that matters after all,  
It sure makes everything else  
Seem so small"  
**-- "So Small"  
Carrie Underwood**_


	8. I Run to You

The drive from Jackson to Darnell was…. well, scenic would be one word to describe it, but it wasn't necessarily the one Eric had in mind. He was a city boy, born and raised, and while he could appreciate the occasional break from urban sprawl, there was something unsettling about looking around and seeing nothing but trees and land for miles. He had this image of the rental car breaking down (which unlikely, it was a new-model Toyota, and it ran just fine), and having to walk miles to the nearest gas station or hope for a house along the road. He was just glad it wasn't nighttime. Lonely, dark country roads mostly made him think of the serial killers on those true crime shows that Calleigh settled for every once in a while when there was nothing else on TV.

The thought of Calleigh made him glance at his cell phone – he'd lost service right after he turned onto highway 17 and had yet to get back more than one bar – and that was only when the wind blew just right. When they'd talked last night, Calleigh had warned him there was a dead zone and assured him he'd get service back a few miles from her grandmother's house. It was probably for the best, he supposed. They'd be together for the next few days, better to let her enjoy her morning alone. Besides, he'd tried calling during his changeover in Charlotte and she hadn't picked up.

He hoped she'd been sleeping; she hadn't done much of that lately. He wasn't sure if she thought he knew about all the nights she'd half-wake him by slipping out of bed, closely followed by the white noise of the TV or the quiet sounds of her in the kitchen before he nodded off again. Even when she stayed in bed, she didn't seem to be sleeping soundly, tossing and turning, sighing, waking up with a start. To be honest, her restlessness was robbing both of them of precious sleep, but there was no talking about it. There'd been no talking about anything that was wrong for weeks. Fighting, absolutely, but no talking.

He hoped that would change now, hoped the time away had been good for her. Hoped these few days would be good for _them_. He'd never been this invested in a relationship before, never been so thrown by someone else's problems. He'd never spent nights awake, wondering if his girlfriend was going to be okay. Not until Calleigh. He wasn't sure what that said about them, and he wasn't sure if he should be scared of it. He wasn't sure of much, to be honest, aside from knowing he wanted to be the one she turned to when things were hard. And until recently, he had been.

It scared him that that could change, that he could somehow suddenly be so cut off from her. It had been a long time since he'd looked at Calleigh and seen a stranger, and he'd been wracking his brain trying to figure out why it had become that way now. And what to do about it. He didn't want to leave her, that was for sure, but if things didn't change… how does someone stay in a relationship where there's such a disconnect? He wanted to fix her, but knew he couldn't. He wanted to fix _them_, but knew he needed her help for that. He wanted things to be back to the way they were before. But before what? Before when?

The thoughts of her, of them, had him so distracted that he almost missed the turn onto the bare road that lead to her grandmother's house. He swung hard to make it, kicking up dirt as he righted himself and thanking a few saints that there hadn't been any oncoming traffic to dodge.

A few minutes later, he pulled up to the old house with its wide porch and sprawling property, and spied Calleigh bent over the bottom porch step, swinging a hammer in nothing but cut-off jean shorts, a thin white tanktop, and the sweat of a muggy Louisiana summer. The realization that he was completely, desperately in love with her hit him like a punch to the stomach, stole his breath so that he had to take a minute to recover before he killed the engine and cracked the door open to step into a humidity so thick it made breathing feel like drowning.

When she stood and turned, tucking the hammer into her belt loop and raising one hand to shield her eyes from the sun as the other waved a greeting, a smile brighter than the sun illuminating her face, he recognized her for the first time in weeks. And he realized that _this_ was what he wanted more than anything else. He wanted to come home to Calleigh, in a big house, with a yard and kids and dogs. He regretted suddenly that he hadn't known this before, that he hadn't come here with a ring for her, because he knew in that moment that he couldn't leave this place without asking her to marry him.

Before he recovered from the revelation, she was trotting toward him, hesitating about a foot away before closing the distance between them and wrapping her arms around him with a soft "hi." Eric held her close and breathed in the scent of sweat, and Calleigh, and what he guessed was the faded memory of lavender soap. She held him around the middle, arms squeezing tight as she rested her forehead against him.

They stood there for a few long moments, absorbing the feel of each other as if it had been months and not days since they'd seen each other last. Finally, she tipped her head up and told him, "You're so cool from the a/c. I'm all sweaty and gross."

"I don't mind," he assured, hugging her even closer to prove his point. He pressed his lips to her forehead, and told her, "You look like you feel better."

She ducked her head a little then, sheepishly, and took a step back to break their embrace. Eric was momentarily concerned that he'd just made her close up again, until she slid her hands into his and squeezed lightly.

"Yeah," she muttered. "I finally got some good sleep. That's why I didn't get your call this morning – Charlotte pushed some Tylenol PM on me last night, and I was out like a light until ten."

"Remind me to thank her," Eric teased, tugging her close again and bending for a kiss, finally. He kept it slow and sweet, then pressed his lips against hers again, one more time for good measure. He was just about to pull back when he felt her tongue tease out, brushing his lip. Never one to refuse a good make-up kiss, he ducked his head low again, opening his mouth for her and indulging until the kisses were hot and needy and eager.

Calleigh was the first to pull away, breath a little fast as she whispered into the space between them that she needed to shower.

"I wouldn't mind washing off the airport," Eric agreed suggestively, and that was how they found themselves in the upstairs bathroom, trying to navigate around each other in the old claw-foot tub as they soaped up under lukewarm water.

The soap was indeed lavender, a fresh bar of exfoliating lavender to be exact, and he scrubbed it over her sweaty skin, teasing it lightly across her nipple and watching her bite her lip softly.

"Eric…" He ducked his head, stole a kiss from her lips. "I know there's stuff we should, y'know, talk about, but…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "I need you right now. Can the rest wait?"

Because they had all day – and a few after that – and because she'd just made it clear that talking was definitely on the agenda (and because there was little that turned him on more than the sight of Calleigh all soaped up and slippery under a spray of water), he acquiesced. Slick hands coasted down her back to cup her rear and draw her closer, his mouth on hers again, hot on and urgent.

To his surprise, she turned out of the kiss. "In bed," she insisted. "Let's finish up in here, and then move to the bed."

She didn't need to tell him twice, especially after she nudged him out of the way and tipped her head back under the water, sending streams of it sluicing down over her breasts and belly. He watched intently as a little rivulet ran down the plane of her belly, rolling in a path that just barely skirted her sex before trailing down her inner thigh. Jesus. His mouth was suddenly jealous of the water droplets.

"Finish fast," he insisted, handing her the shampoo and thanking God and all the saints when he caught sight of the words "two-in-one" on the bottle. While she lathered and rinsed, he caressed and teased, fingers finding her breasts and tracing circles around tightening peaks.

By the time she turned to shut off the water he was more than ready, almost antsy with need as he did a half-assed job of drying himself before wrapping the towel around her. He caught her mouth again as he rubbed the terrycloth over her curves, but a moment later she eased him away, kept a hand anchored on his arm. "Eric…" Green eyes found his, vulnerable and almost hesitant, and her voice was soft when she told him again, "I _need_ you right now."

Oh. Right. The look in her eyes spoke volumes, loud enough for him to realize she was talking about more than sex. The woman he loved was in need right now, and he needed to be there for her. Which meant no wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, so he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers, taking a few slow breaths to rein in his lust. Then he tipped his head up, pressed his lips to her brow, and eased the towel from around her body.

He forced himself to stay slow and steady as he lifted it to squeeze the extra water from her hair, then waited, hands patiently on her hips, thumbs tracing slow circles against her hipbones as she ran a comb through damp locks. Finally, she murmured a quiet "okay," and smiled at him, threading their fingers again before leading him down the hall to a quaint little room with a full size bed, and her open carry-on propped haphazardly on a white wicker chair in the corner.

She didn't let go of his hand until they reached the bedside; then, she turned to draw down the quilt that seemed far too warm for the Louisiana heat, tugged down the sheets after them and slid onto the bed. When she scooted to make room for him, he followed suit, turning onto his side and pulling her into a slow, lazy kiss. She sighed against him, tangled her legs with his, and brought a hand up to skim over his skull before letting her arm rest around his neck.

They stayed like that for a little while, just laying together, mouths meeting and parting with no hurry. He felt her chin quiver once or twice, felt her breathing hitch slightly, and it broke his heart. He didn't want her sad anymore. He didn't want to feel _helpless_ in the face of her sadness anymore.

Knowing that while he might not be able to calm her heart, he could certainly please her body, he eased her gently onto her back. She tugged him to cover her, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face into his shoulder, her mouth dotting soft, wet kisses across his skin. It took him a moment to decipher her mantra of soft whispers: "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Shhh," he soothed, covering her mouth with his to kiss her quiet. "We'll talk about it after, okay?"

Nodding, she arched her hips against his, her arms tightening to pull him closer. "I need you," she whispered again.

"I'm right here," Eric assured, sucking soft kisses along her jaw, down the column of her throat. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm glad you came," she sighed, gasping softly when he nipped at her pulse. One of her hands found its way into the slim space between them, wrapping around him and stroking lazily up and down to send pleasure slithering through his body.

Eric moaned softly, muttered something about being glad too, and scooted down out of her reach to tease his tongue against her nipples. It made her arch and sigh, and when he began to nip and suck lightly, she ground her head back into the pillow and let loose these soft, kittenish moans that he loved. He loved everything about her in bed, truth be told – the feel of her skin, the sound of her breath, the light smell of her sweat, the way she tasted when she came against his tongue. All of it, everything, he loved it all.

When she sighed a soft "please," her voice breathy and trembling, he decided to tell her, decided to cover her in compliments until she felt loved and treasured and perfect. There had been too many harsh words lately, and not enough love, so he swiped his tongue along the underside of her breast and murmured how soft she was right there. Planted soft kisses down her belly and told her he loved the taste of her skin. His palms parted her thighs and he told her she was beautiful, and sexy, and that he could look at her for days. That he'd missed the sight of her. That he always did when she wasn't around.

When she reached for his hand, he met her halfway, gripping hers as he bent his head to trace his tongue in a slow circle over her clit. She arched and gasped and shivered, and he did it again, then told her he loved the way she tasted. Ran his tongue down between her folds and moaned softly, just to prove his point. Her fingers tightened around his. They squeezed even harder when he brought his lips back to her sensitive nub and sucked softly, then a little harder, again, and she was moaning and squirming.

"I love the way you come," he rumbled against her, sucking again as she gasped and sighed. "Love the way you sound when you're almost there," another soft suck, then a slow lick that made her twitch and moan. "And the way you sound when you're coming for me."

He nipped gently and she cried out softly, stiffened for a moment before settling again. "I love everything about you." His tongue circled her once, twice, his other hand anchored against her hipbone.

"I don't think I've been very loveable lately," she admitted quietly, the confession coaxing his head up and marring his face with a frown. He could understand why she'd said it, and there were moments he might have agreed with her, but now wasn't one of them.

Instead, he pushed himself up until he was face-to-face with her again, taking her lips in a long, heated kiss. When it broke, he assured her that, "You're always loveable. I always love you." When her chin quivered slightly, he smiled and added, "Even when you're crazy."

It had the desired effect, bringing a soft smile to her lips. It didn't reach her eyes, but at least it was progress. One arm looped around his neck again, the other hand stealing between them to circle his cock and stroke again. "I need you in me," she whispered, brushing her mouth lightly against his again.

He pouted, just a little, and shook his head. "I'm not done down there," he informed, starting to scoot down the bed again before she caught his arm and held him in place.

"No," she insisted quietly, green eyes steady on his. "Eric, I need to be with you. I missed you, I need… Please."

She was open suddenly, vulnerable and needy in a way she hadn't allowed herself to be in weeks, and he could see the shadow of grief looming just below the surface of her skin. Suddenly tonguing her into an orgasm was the furthest thing from his mind. His fingers threaded into her hair, and he nodded before he kissed her again, slowly, gently. "Okay."

She let out a breath he hadn't realized she'd been holding, spreading her thighs a little wider and nudging him to her entrance. Eric pressed his forehead to hers, and she guided him in for the first inch or so, then slid her hands back around to grip his hips as he sunk the rest of the way in. She trembled; he moaned. When he tried to start a rhythm, she gripped his hips tighter to stop him.

"Need a minute?" he asked softly, kissing her mouth again as she nodded, then skimming his mouth along her jaw, her throat, her shoulder. Soft little kisses, over and over, as she skimmed her palms up his ribs, gripped his shoulders. A moment later, she arched her hips against his and he began a slow in-and-out, taking his time, feeling the languid friction as he filled her up, drew back, filled her up again. He'd missed this. They hadn't taken it slow like this in a while, and he'd forgotten how good it felt to just let his hips roll lazily against hers, the pleasure rising in a slow burn.

She was making the kitten moans again, soft, satisfied sounds every time he slid into her, and he lifted his head to watch her. Her eyes were shut, squeezing a little with each wave of pleasure that made her head arch back against the pillow. He nipped her chin, told her she was beautiful, then shifted slightly to change the angle on the next thrust.

Calleigh's eyes popped open and she gasped, her nails biting into his skin, her breath quickening. His grin was quick and satisfied, and he began to move a little faster, hitting the sweet spot each time until she was moaning louder, deeper, her whole body quaking slightly under his as she grew wetter and wetter, hotter and hotter.

"You feel so good," he breathed and she shifted her grip, urged him closer and nodded into a moan.

"You, too." Her chin trembled again before she pressed her lips together hard, and he had a feeling her release would be part pleasure, part catharsis, so he cradled his arms under her shoulders and held her closer as he kept moving. "So good," she gasped, arching her hips against his, harder, harder, and he heard the hitch in her breath, watched her eyes well a little before she squeezed them shut again, hard.

"Close?" It was more than that, he could tell, but she nodded anyway and brought her hands down to grip his rear, pulling him deeper on each thrust. The feel of her urging him into her made his toes curl, made him drop his head to her shoulder and buck into her faster, the long, lazy strokes of before abandoned for quick, short pumps that ratcheted them both closer to the edge.

When her short nails bit into his ass, he cursed softly, nipping at her collarbone, the side of her neck, her ear. Her moans and grunts grew louder, more urgent, and a moment later her felt her stiffen beneath him and arch on a pleasured cry, the sudden clutch of her slick, hot muscles around him lurching him to the edge and over with a grunt. As pleasure sparked up his spine, he thrust into her few more times, panting her name against her skin with each one.

As his muscles relaxed slowly, and his head began to clear, he felt her body beneath this, still quivering slightly. Instead of stilling, though, she trembled harder, her quick breaths beginning to hitch, and when she let out the first quiet sob, he eased himself out of her gently and pulled her close. As soon as she was cradled in his arms, the dam broke, hard, wracking sobs of grief shaking her body. All Eric could do was hold her tighter, murmur condolences into her hair, and wait out the wave as she finally purged herself. He had a feeling it had been a long time coming.

.

"_This world keeps spinning faster  
Into a new disaster,  
So I run to you.  
I run to you.  
And when it all starts coming undone,  
Baby, you're the only one I run to."  
**-- "I Run to You"  
Lady Antebellum**_


	9. Fall Into Me

Calleigh wasn't sure how long it took to cry herself out. All she knew was that when the tears finally stopped, her head felt blocked up and her eyes were sore, tear tracks itching along her cheeks. Her heart felt a little better though, now that he was here, now that his smell was all around her, and one of his palms was coasting up and down along her spine to soothe her. His lips pressed gentle kisses along her brow, over and over, even after the tears had subsided and silence hung thicker than the humidity in the air.

He cut through it first, asking her quietly if she felt better. She nodded and curled closer to him, tucking her head beneath his chin and breathing in the scent of sweat and sex and lavender. "Yeah," she rasped, voice rough from tears. "Thank you for holding me." She wasn't sure where it had come from, but once the words were out, she recognized the truth of them. She was so, so grateful to be able to cry with his arms around her, with his soothing voice in her ear. It cut the grief and loneliness just a little.

It took her a moment to realize that he hadn't responded, that his body had gone a little tense. She shifted until she could look up at him and found him frowning slightly, wearing that expression that she knew meant he was debating telling her something that might start an argument. Her heart ached when she realized just how easily recognizable that face had become. "What?" she asked gently, letting one of her hands rise up to cup his cheek, her thumb running along his jaw.

"I'm your boyfriend," he told her slowly. "You shouldn't have to thank me for being there for you. That's what I should do. And I'd do it, all the time, if you'd let me. All you ever had to do was ask, and I'd be there." She didn't know what to say to that, didn't know how to respond to the curl of guilt in her belly, so she said nothing. "You should have called me. As soon as your dad called, you should have called me. You should have known that no matter what happened between us, I'd be here. I'd get on that plane with you and fly here no matter how angry I was, or how angry you were."

"I was mad," she answered quietly. "It all happened so fast, and I was still mad. By the time I wasn't mad, I was already here."

"You didn't call me all weekend." She could tell by the shift of his jaw, the way he averted his eyes, that she had hurt him, deeply. "You shut me out, completely. You've been doing that a lot lately."

She'd never been more sure that she was wrong, that she should have just sucked it up and called him after her dad called her, that he'd been right about what she needed and she'd been… bitchy and moody. Just like he'd said. She'd been hurtful. And because she'd never been afraid of an apology when she knew she was in the wrong, she pressed her lips softly to his, then murmured to him, "Eric… I'm sorry I've been so awful lately."

"All I want is for you to feel better." His fingers skimmed her spine again, made her shiver. "I just want you to feel like yourself again. I want you to stop shutting me out, and talk to me."

The hurt in his voice was more pronounced without the frustration that had been strangling it for weeks. Or maybe she was just finally listening beyond her own self. With a sigh, she banded her arm around his ribs, held him tight, and fessed up. "I've been having trouble sleeping."

"I know." His lips brushed her brow again. "I just don't know why."

She hesitated, felt her pulse begin to knock a little harder in her chest, then told him, "I do."

"Tell me?" he asked softly, lips brushing against her skin, nuzzling against hair that was still a little damp.

"Do you remember the triple in the Gables?" she asked quietly, and he made a soft sound of affirmation.

"Of course. How could I forget?"

That was an understatement. A mother, father, and eight-year-old daughter, hacked to death with a hatchet in their own home, and not found for three days. Unforgettable was the least one could say. Horrific was more apt. "There was so much blood." Her voice sounded small, even to her, and it wasn't entirely steady.

"I know. I remember."

"When I walked in…" She trailed off, closed her eyes, and saw the whole scene again in her head, her stomach rolling at the memory. "When I walked in, just for a second, the father looked like you. _Just_ like you."

She felt the air deflate out of him, and it comforted her to know that there was someone out there who knew what would rock her without her even having to get it all out. "Oh, Calleigh," he breathed, all sympathy, all comfort, ducking his head to press a quick kiss to her lips.

She kissed him back, then rested her forehead against his as she swallowed down the turbulent anxiety of the memory, continuing, "It was just for a second, just from that angle, but… God, Eric… And then you walked in, and you were fine, you were you, and we processed the scene. And he really looked nothing like you from head on. But… I couldn't shake it."

"It kept you up," he deduced, a flatness to his voice that she knew only crept in when he felt helpless in the face of a problem. She hated that the problem was her this time, hated even more that she had a feeling it was her unwillingness to confide during all those nights they spent together that hurt him the most. And she was only just beginning.

"You had your nieces that weekend," she reminded, running her palm up to grip behind his shoulder. "So I slept at home, and I had this dream…" She swallowed, closed her eyes, pressed herself closer. "I had this dream that it _was_ you. The body. That I walked in the room again, and it was really you. And I woke up, scared, cold sweat. Couldn't get back to sleep all night. I kept seeing it when I closed my eyes. I was so tired… I tried to take a nap that afternoon, but I had the dream again. And again that night, and… I just couldn't shake it."

"Calleigh," he murmured again, like he couldn't think of anything else to say to her. Or maybe he was just giving her time to get it all out; she wasn't sure.

"Every night for a week. And then I just… couldn't sleep. I couldn't relax enough to get to sleep. I knew it was coming." She pressed a kiss to his shoulder, his jaw, brought her hand back around to stroke her fingers over his hair. "My biggest fear is losing you," she admitted, dutifully ignoring the way her voice trembled, the tears that had welled in her eyes. "And I kept losing you. Every night."

"No. You didn't. I'm right here." Eric looped his fingers around her wrist and tugged her hand down, tucking it between their bodies before wrapping both arms around her and holding her tight. "See?"

She felt a few tears spill over again, and was actually surprised that she had anything left to cry at this point. But she nodded, tucked her head underneath his chin and breathed him in.

"Can I ask you a question?" he asked, after a minute.

"Mmhmm."

"If you were afraid of losing me, why did you push me away?"

It was a question Calleigh had spent some time trying to answer for herself over the past twenty-four hours, so she had an answer for him without having to think too long. "It's not so much losing you," she clarified slowly, wiggling away just slightly until she could look him in the eye again. "I think if I left you, or you left me, if this didn't work out, I could probably recover. I mean, it would be awful… but I think I would be able to move on. Eventually. But I'm terrified that something will take you away from me. An accident, or a shooting, or…" She shook her head, shifted onto her back and wove one of her hands with his, thumb skating lazily over his fingers. "Something out of our control. And that day… it was just so vivid. I mean, even when you were shot, I didn't see you until after you were out of surgery and bandaged. The sight of you covered in blood, I can't… I just can't."

"You could have told me," Eric assured, separating their fingers long enough to trace his fingertips in swirling patterns along her belly, where her skin was still dewy with sweat.

She shook her head, tried to voice the riot of emotions she had only just allowed herself to begin processing. "No. I didn't want to. I didn't want to admit that the job had gotten to me. I've been doing this for years; I love my job. I was afraid if I said something, then… it would be like I couldn't handle it? Like maybe I'm not cut out for this anymore? And I don't think that's true."

"It was one case," he assured, with a shake of his head, fingers skimming up along her ribcage now in a caress that tickled almost as much as it comforted. She resisted the urge to squirm, forcing herself to focus instead on the warmth of his skin against hers.

"There have been more gruesome cases. Things that have kept me awake for a night or two. But nothing like this. I was afraid to sleep. And I was anxious, all the time, especially when you weren't around." She tilted her head to rest against him, sighing softly. "It shouldn't be like this."

"You got spooked," he soothed, pressing kisses into her hair again. "Your mind played a trick on you, and you got spooked. That's all."

"But it could happen," she whispered quietly, lifting her hand to trail her fingers over his forearm.

"We're CSIs, Calleigh. We know better than anyone that it can always happen. There are a million ways to go every second." He shifted then, settled his body over hers again and took her mouth in a slow, reassuring kiss. "And I know you won't want to hear this," Eric began, easing away as the kiss broke. "But you should talk to someone about it. And not just me. A therapist. I know you hate them, but you should talk to someone. At the very least, they might be able to give you something to help you sleep."

Calleigh wanted to argue – it was knee-jerk – but she'd been so unruly for the past few weeks that she decided to give him this one. "Okay," she assented, nodding slightly as she threaded her arms around his waist. "When we get back, I'll look into it."

He smiled at her then, one of those genuine, warm smiles he was so good at, then gave her another soft kiss before murmuring, "Thank you. But let's not worry about it now. We're on vacation." His mouth fell on hers in another brief kiss. "Nothing is going to happen to me here." Another. "So let's not worry about it anymore."

It was a suggestion that Calleigh was more than happy to go along with, so she nodded and agreed, giving him a gentle squeeze.

"But promise me something."

"What?"

"In the future, talk to me before you yell at me, okay? I can't stand being shut out of your problems, especially when your problems involve us."

"I promise," she swore, before adding, "That was why, by the way. Why I got so mad when you said I should go on vacation. I knew we couldn't go together, not without tipping off IAB, and I was afraid to leave you. I was afraid something would happen to you and I wouldn't be there. And I know its silly but-"

He silenced her with another kiss, then shook his head. "I didn't need to stay on your couch for a week after you got out of the hospital. You were fine. But I was afraid if I left, you'd choke, and nobody would be there. That I wouldn't be there for you, and I'd lose you before I even really had you."

Calleigh didn't know quite what to say. She'd forgotten, somewhat, that he'd stayed so long, that he'd needed to. He'd been where she was now, only the imminent peril had been a lot more… imminent. "I should have just told you."

"Yeah," he agreed, offering her a smile and threading his fingers into her hair. "You should have. But you will next time, right?"

Nodding, she promised, then sealed the promise again with a kiss.

"Good." His lips found her chin, worked their way along her jaw. "Now. I am going to get all sweaty with you again." His lips found that soft spot behind her ear, the one that made her shiver. "And then we're going to shower again." Teeth caught her earlobe and suddenly her pulse was jumping for a reason that had nothing to do with fearful confessions. "And then, you are going to show me this house."

"Sounds like a plan," she whispered, urging his mouth back to hers and losing herself in a wet, eager kiss. It didn't go unnoticed that her constant, dull anxiety had eased, or that the weight she'd been carrying had finally been lifted. For the first time in weeks, she felt steady, and safe, and right.

.

.

"_Before you fall asleep,  
Before you drift away  
To fight those demons  
Waiting for you in your dreams…  
…__Fall into me.  
My arms are opened wide,  
And you don't have to say a word.  
'__Cause I already see that it's hard,  
And you're scared,  
And you're tired,  
And it hurts.  
And I wanna be the one you reach for first."  
**--"Fall Into Me"  
Sugarland**_


	10. Frantic

Charlotte had a headache. In fact, she had three of them, and their names were Gracie, Tyler and Pamela Duquesne. Gracie was having a meltdown on the kitchen floor, wailing and sobbing in the way only a two year old can, distraught over another night away from home. Tyler was currently tearing through the house, in and out of the kitchen, the living room, out onto the porch and back, hollering at the top of his lungs as Grandma Pam chased after him – a bit slower, but making good speed nonetheless – and hooting with laughter. If Duke and Tuck didn't get back from the store soon, she was going to start beating heads with the Nerf bat she'd confiscated from Tyler on his first lap. It was now clutched tightly in her hand as she stood sentry in the kitchen, vibrating with irritation at her son for being a terror and her mother-in-law for being a meddling old hen.

Duke and Pam had offered to take the kids again tonight, so the siblings – her and Tuck, Bryan and Rob, and Calleigh and Eric – could have a night to themselves. Burgers on the grill, longneck bottles of beer, hell Charlotte had even dragged out a stack of board games from the back of the closet. It had been a good plan, a wonderful plan – until she realized that her husband and his bonehead brothers had consumed most of the beer in the house over the last weekend, and the hamburger had gone bad in the fridge. So Duke and Tucker had been sent out for more meat, and she'd called Bryan to pick up the drinks. She hadn't heard a peep from Calleigh all day, and that was exactly how she liked it. As far as she was concerned, no news was good news.

Of course, no news meant no gossip for Pam, and there was _nobody_ who lived on family gossip like Pamela Duquesne. So instead of taking Tucker up on the offer to drive his father home after the store, freeing up Duke's car for Pam to take the kids and get them settled and bathed and ready for bed at a decent time, she was still here, riling Tyler up and stalling so she could meet Eric. She'd made her excuses, of course, something about it being a waste of Tucker's time, and how it would take him out of his way (a whopping ten miles), and cut into his time with his siblings. Ridiculous. The honest truth was that this was the first time Calleigh had brought home a man since she'd arrived for Christmas with Jake Berkeley during her academy days, and Pamela was practically bursting with excitement.

Charlotte heard a car pull up, and prayed it was her husband, only to be disappointed a moment later when Bryan walked in, toting two six-packs of Abita Turbodog. She heard her son squeal from the porch, and guessed he'd been caught mid-sprint.

"Evening, ma'am," Bryan greeted with mock formality before turning his attention to Grace on the floor, and adding with another nod, "Little ma'am."

"No offense, Bry, but you're not the Duquesne I was hoping for," she grumbled, reaching down and scooping Gracie up, unsurprised when she went noodle-limp and continued to cry. "And there'd better be more beer than that."

He laughed, moving to the fridge to unpack the beer and set it cooling. "We've got some Restoration in the car," he assured before nodding his head toward Gracie. "What's her problem?"

"She doesn't want to go to Grandma's," Charlotte supplied, narrowly missing a swinging toddler fist, and suppressing the urge to holler herself. She'd had just about enough of this.

A moment later, Rob walked in, one arm looped around Tyler's waist, as he hung upside down from his shoulder, legs kicking madly as he cackled with glee. Perfect.

"Tyler Jacob Duquesne, if you kick out a light fixture, I swear to Jesus…" Charlotte warned, and as her mother-in-law strolled in, half out of breath and toting the promised six-packs of Restoration ale, Rob swatted Tyler lightly on the rear and ordered him to cool it. To Charlotte's immense surprise, he actually listened, going limp and panting from exertion. Well, it was nice to see that her children listened to _somebody_. Now, if only that somebody could be her.

Another car pulled up outside, and Pam hustled over to the window, depositing her six-packs on the countertop as she shamelessly peered out to see who had arrived. From the way her eyes lit up and she ran a hand through her sandy-blonde hair to make sure it was in order, Charlotte knew it wasn't Tucker.

"Must be Calleigh," Charlotte muttered, sending Tyler into a tizzy again.

"Auntie CJ! Auntie CJ!" he hollered, wiggling so hard and so suddenly that Rob nearly dropped him on his head before he managed to get a good grip on him again. "Put me down! I wanna go see auntie CJ!"

Headache throbbing suddenly, as the Rob-Tyler-Pam conglomerate headed out to the front porch, Charlotte just looked to Bryan. "Beer. I need a beer."

Because Gracie had managed to wind herself down to low hitching sobs, he heard her loud and clear and was on his way to the Restoration on the countertop before she'd even gotten the words out. The fact that he was laughing at her was forgivable as far as she was concerned, because in less than a minute, he was trading the bottle for her daughter – who protested by throwing her head back and starting up into a good wail again. Charlotte gulped from the bottle, not giving a damn that it was warm. It was alcoholic, and at the moment, that was enough.

A moment later, a cluster of people made their way into the kitchen – Calleigh now holding Tyler, who was chatting animatedly to her about his upcoming t-ball game as she tried to crane her neck to keep Pam in view while _she_ chatted up a column of tall, dark and Cuban that could be none other than Eric Delko. He was even better-looking in person, Charlotte decided, and if she hadn't been so frazzled she'd have had the good sense to offer him a beer or ask him to help her fire up the grill. Anything to get him away from the appraising eye of her mother-in-law. As it was, she just gulped down another swallow and looked to Bryan.

"Rescue him," she pleaded quietly, and Bryan gave her a small salute before handing Gracie back and crossing the kitchen to wedge himself between Eric and Pam. Good man, Charlotte thought again. Very good man.

"Hey, Eric," he greeted, looping an arm around the taller man's shoulder and guiding him toward the fridge. "Good to see you again."

"You, too," Eric replied, looking both amused and relieved as Bryan lead him to the six-packs on the counter, then kindly requested he help get them packed away to cool. Eric was all too happy to oblige, following Bryan to the fridge where they took their time tucking the beer away and speaking in voices too low to hear over Gracie's continued tantrum. Charlotte's eardrums were going to be ringing soon.

"Well, isn't he helpful," Pam sighed, casting a satisfied glance toward Eric as Rob carted in another two six-packs and Tyler twisted in Calleigh's arms. She let him down and he scampered to the fridge, no doubt wanting to help the men do manly things like unpack beer. When Eric held out a hand, Tyler plucked a beer from one of Rob's packs and handed it over with a grin. "It's like he's already family."

Charlotte watched Calleigh's face fall into a frustrated scowl. "Mama. I swear, if you don't drop it-"

"Calleigh Jo, it's a mother's right to nudge her daughter once she gets to a certain age-"

"Is nudging what you call it?" Cal questioned, dropping her voice in an attempt to keep the conversation at least semi-private. "Because from my end it feels an awful lot like pushing, and I don't need that right now. _Eric and I_ don't need that right now."

"Oh, fine," she huffed in reply, casting another glance at them. Tyler had now wedged himself between his uncles and Eric and was half in the fridge doing God only knew what. "But one of these days, you should think about settling down and letting yourself be happy."

Charlotte watched as Calleigh's eyes went wide and angry for a moment, but she apparently thought better of whatever she was going to say. Instead, she turned and swiped Charlotte's beer up from where she'd left it on the counter when she took Gracie back. She gulped down a few swallows and grimaced. "It's warm."

"It is," Charlotte confirmed. "Your brother just brought it in. He only beat you by about a minute."

"I like him, if that means anything to you," Pam cut in, arms crossed, staring Calleigh down.

"Oh, honestly," Charlotte groaned, shifting Gracie from one arm to the other, and rocking her in the hope that she'd hush. "Will you both just grow up and knock it off?" The way they turned to her with nearly identical offended expressions was almost comical. The two of them were more alike than either would ever admit. "I mean it," Charlotte added. "You two wanna bicker over Calleigh's love life, do it somewhere that isn't my kitchen. That way I don't have to listen, referee, or clean up the blood stains when you finally piss her off enough that she pulls out her gun and shoots you."

They both looked thoroughly put out for a moment before Calleigh surprised Charlotte by sighing and extending the olive branch. "Yes, it means something, Mama. Thank you. But it's been a long weekend for all of us, and I don't want to talk about this right now."

For her part, Pamela gave a considerate nod, and agreed, "Fair enough," before reaching out to rub Gracie's back. The toddler wrenched away and cried harder and Charlotte just about lost it.

"NO gamma!" Gracie wailed, and Charlotte might have grabbed her beer back from Calleigh if she hadn't been trying to wrangle a twisting toddler. "No gamma! Mama! _Mama!_ Stay hoooooome!"

With a heavy sigh, Charlotte relented. "You can't take her. Take Tyler, but she won't handle it tonight. She's a mess."

"Oh, but I was so lookin' forward to having them both over," Pam sighed, and Charlotte couldn't help her scoff.

"It's bedtime, Pam. You're taking them for baths and bed. They've been all over the place for the last few days because their schedules have been shot to hell."

"You gonna pay the electric bill, Bry?"

Charlotte looked up at her husband's voice; she hadn't even heard Tucker's car pull in. "Oh, thank God," she groaned. "Thank God you're back, now send your parents away with our son before my head explodes."

"Charlotte!" he chided, laughing, and Pam rolled her eyes.

"Oh, honestly, Charlotte." She shook her head as Tucker leaned in to press a kiss to Charlotte forehead on his way to the fridge. "She thinks I'm meddling."

"I'm sure you are," Tucker told her, nodding a heads-up to Rob before tossing him the bag of groceries. "But I'm pretty sure that's also a mother's job, so we'll let it go this once. Now, take the kids; we have grilling to do."

"We're keeping Gracie," Charlotte informed, pleased that the toddler seemed to have settled down once she heard she was going to be sleeping in her own bed. She was still clinging like a monkey and sniffling, but at least the screaming had stopped. "She either needs her own bed tonight or a straightjacket, and I'm fresh out of the latter, so…"

"Oh, has my baby girl been difficult?" he asked with a sympathetic frown – for the baby, not Charlotte – and when he headed back in their direction and reached for Gracie, easing her away, Charlotte was so glad the baby didn't cry again that she let his disregard for her stress go unmentioned. Instead she reached out to snatch her beer back from Calleigh.

"One might say," she drawled sarcastically, before taking a deep swallow. "She's been screaming bloody murder since y'all left for the store."

He turned that frown on her then, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear before telling her, "You're a goddess among women for putting up with my children."

"Hell spawns," she corrected, gulping another swallow of beer. "Your hell spawns. Demon babies. Monsters."

Tucker snickered and relieved her of her beer, taking a quick sip before stepping closer until she was pinned between him and the countertop. He ducked his head to kiss her, and Gracie squirmed between them, apparently none too pleased at being sandwiched. "Goddess," he assured again before taking a step back is his father walked into the kitchen.

"Well, what in the hell is taking so long?" Duke asked, grinning as he shook his head at his children. It struck Charlotte suddenly just how much it must have pleased him to see them all in one room – she hadn't seen that light in his eyes since he'd come home to see after Clara. "I thought I told you to send your mother on out to the car so she would stop pestering you kids."

"Don't you want to meet Calleigh's boyfriend?" Pam asked with a raised brow.

"I've met him," he assured, " and I'll see him again on Saturday. Now let's round up the grandbabies and get outta here."

"Marry me, Duke," Charlotte insisted emphatically, glad there was someone in the family interested in getting people _out_ of her kitchen. "Marry me, just for that. Pamela can stay and fight Calleigh for Eric, Tucker can take care of the babies, and you and I will run off to Aruba together and sell seashells to gullible tourists on the beach."

As Tucker, Pam, and Calleigh, all "hey!"ed in response, Duke whooped a laugh and shook his head at her. "Alright, let's go—tomorrow! Tonight, you kids enjoy yourselves."

"Will do," she assured, saluting him and laughing as he waved Tyler over and snuck him a lollipop that he didn't think Charlotte saw. At this point, she didn't give a damn. Let them deal with a sugared up seven-year-old; she was going to put her toddler down and enjoy an evening with actual adults for a change. "Your princess is staying here tonight; she's in no shape for a sleepover. Tyler, put that sucker in your pocket and come give Mama a kiss goodbye."

Five minutes later, Pam, Duke, and Tyler had been piled into the car and sent away. Ten minutes after that, the men had wandered to the back yard to fire up the grill, and Charlotte was joining Calleigh and Gracie on the porch swing, her headache beginning to feel considerably better.

.

"_That's how it goes,  
A day in my life.  
I'm on my toes  
From morning to night.  
Livin' like this  
Some might say it's  
So exhaustin', frenzied, manic.  
Call me nuts, but I like it frantic."  
**-- "Frantic"  
Jamie O'Neal**_


	11. Chapter 11 Updated

**Author's Note:** This is the complete Chapter 11 -- apparently all my muse needed was for me to publicly admit it had left me. heh Look for Chapter 12 soon!

* * *

"So." Charlotte settled next to Eric on the porch swing, having passed Gracie off to Calleigh for a turn on the tire swing while the Duquesne boys fired up the grill and prepped the burgers. "Eric Delko."

"Charlotte Duquesne," he answered in kind, his boyish smile giving Charlotte an idea of just what may have gotten Calleigh all smitten in the first place.

"In a minute, I'm going to make you tell me everything there is to know about you-" He smirked, she answered in kind. "But for now, I just need to know one thing."

"Okay."

She nodded toward Calleigh, who was helping Rob get the grill started. "She alright?"

Charlotte watched his gaze flick to Calleigh and soften, going a little thoughtful, a little concerned, a lot in love. "Yeah," he finally answered quietly. "She will be, anyway. She just needs to… work some things out."

"You'll make sure she does." It wasn't really an order, wasn't really a statement, definitely wasn't a question.

"Yeah. I will." He took a long, slow sip from his bottle as they sat in comfortable silence for a moment. "Thanks, by the way."

"For?" She knew the answer, but she played the part anyway.

"Badgering her."

Charlotte's lips curved into a sly smirk, and she chuckled quietly. "My pleasure. She ever gets her head stuck up her ass like that again, don't you hesitate to call, alright? We can gang up on her until she sees sense."

It was his turn to chuckle, and then nod gamely. "Okay. But let's not tell her that."

"Definitely not," Charlotte agreed, before knocking her bottle lightly against his, toasting, "To secret alliances for the sake of everyone's sanity."

Another easy laugh and Eric raised his bottle slightly. "I'll drink to that."

**~//~**

"Okay, do we have to talk about this?"

"Absolutely," Eric grinned, earning himself a playful shove from Calleigh.

"Oh, come on, CJ," Tucker teased, sliding the first burger off the grill and onto a bun. "It's not every day you bring your boyfriends home. I think it's our brotherly duty to share these stories."

He passed the burger to Charlotte as she walked in from putting Gracie down for the night. Calleigh watched Charlotte hesitate, frown, glance pointedly at the plate of cheddar cheese slices she'd brought out just before heading upstairs.

"Right," Tuck chuckled sheepishly, turning with the burger, "Uh, who wants-"

Rob snatched the plate from his hands, saluted and headed over to the table to grab the ketchup. "Back left," he told Charlotte, who glanced at the grill and smiled.

"Shoulda married you instead," she teased, sipping at her beer as Tucker feigned offense. "Oh, what," she sneered as he huffed. "We've been together how long? How many nights of burgers on the grill, and you still don't get it right? Rob's been in the picture for two years, and he's already got your ass covered."

Tucker grinned, looped a finger into a belt loop and tugged her closer, pressing a short kiss to her lips. "I remember all the important things," he insisted, and Charlotte rolled her eyes before letting him kiss her again. And again.

Bryan was the first to pipe up, after about fifteen seconds of smooches. "You two wanna get a room or something? 'Cause we can handle the water park story without you, Tuck."

Damnit. Calleigh was hoping they'd managed to distract themselves from that one. No such luck, though. Definitely not, as Charlotte cackled and nudged Tucker back to the grill. "Which one? Jared Shepherd or the bikini incident?"

"Oh, God," Calleigh groaned, reaching for her beer and drinking deep as she watched Eric's eyes light up. They were going to tell them both now, she just knew it.

"Oh man, I forgot all about the bikini," Bryan grinned, taking the next burger and passing it to Eric.

"Forgot about it?" Charlotte laughed incredulously. "It's the most embarrassing one! I mean, come on, flirting your way to a lungful a pool water is nothing compared to public nudity at age fifteen."

"Public nudity?" Eric asked, grin splitting wide as he turned to face her fully. "I never knew you had an exhibitionist streak."

"Oh believe me, I don't," Calleigh insisted, feeling her cheeks heat slightly with embarrassment. "And I'm not sure you have the right to be so excited about these stories, Charlotte, on account of you weren't around when they happened."

"Well, I was," Bryan grinned, explaining before she could cut him off, "Tucker yanked one of her bikini strings in the wave pool and she lost the whole top on the next surge."

"_I knew it!_" Calleigh accused, ignoring the burger set in front of her as she whirled toward Tucker in a flash of temper. "I _knew_ you pulled the string!"

"Thanks a lot, Bry," Tucker muttered, narrowly missing the bottle cap that Calleigh pitched at his head.

"What—I thought you knew," he said to Calleigh, looking genuinely surprised before flicking his gaze apologetically to his brother. "I thought she knew."

"Yeah, no, Bryan," Tucker corrected, but that shit-eater grin was back "We'd managed to keep that one a secret so far."

"Oops."

**~//~**

Calleigh found Charlotte in the kitchen, one hand gripping the bottom shelf of an open cupboard, the other braced on the countertop. She could tell by the slump and tremor of her shoulders that she was crying, the tears on her face as she glanced up serving as superfluous confirmation.

"Hey," she managed, voice cracking as she pulled her hand out of the cupboard, and Calleigh felt her own eyes prickle when she caught sight of the pink ceramic clutched in Charlotte's fingers.

"Is that..?"

Charlotte nodded, settled the salt and pepper shakers on the counter as Calleigh moved to lean next to her. "I forgot they were even here," she managed, shaking her head slightly and brushing at her tears with a forced smile as Calleigh traced a fingertip over the back of one pink pig. The pepper shaker, from the single hole on the top of its head. It interlocked with a salt shaker pig – three holes in this one – their bodies draped across each other like they were napping. "Gracie loved 'em so much – you know how she is about pigs. Gran let her bring them home one day, and they ended up shoved way in back up here. I came in lookin' for a fresh box of matches, and…"

Charlotte trailed off, shaking her head and knuckling her tears away again. Calleigh swallowed against the lump in her throat and bit her lip hard when a blink sent the first tears rolling down her own cheeks. "Yeah" was all she could think to say. Charlotte's hand fell on top of hers and squeezed hard, the shakers clutched under both of them. "I can't believe she's not here anymore," Calleigh breathed, shaking her head. "But at the same time… I mean… I…" She wasn't sure what exactly she was trying to articulate, so she simply gave up. "This shouldn't be so hard. It's not like it was… sudden."

"Doesn't make it any less final," Charlotte pointed out, pulsing her hand against Calleigh's.

Another hollow "yeah" ushered in a few moments of painful silence. Calleigh's chest felt tight, heavy, like she'd had the breath knocked out of her. Charlotte didn't look like she was faring any better. They both jumped slightly when the door to the back porch opened up, Eric striding in and then stopping short at the sight of them.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'll, uh-" He gestured for the door, and started to turn back the way he'd come, but Calleigh shook her head.

"No. It's okay. Stay." She slid her hand from under Charlotte's, holding it out for Eric and taking a step closer to meet him halfway. When he grasped her fingers, she used her grip to pull him close, then wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his collar. His arms settled around her shoulders, holding her close and rocking her slightly, and Calleigh felt the tight knot of grief in her chest begin to unspool slightly.

Behind her, Charlotte said something about checking on Gracie, then excused herself from the room. Calleigh just shut her eyes and kept breathing.

~//~

"Honey, you can't make blanket statements like 'all reality TV sucks' when you're more devoted to The Amazing Race than to religion and family," Charlotte argued, tossing a few chips into the center of the table. "And I raise."

"Okay, but The Amazing Race is _good_ reality TV," Bryan cut in, defending his brother. "It's a contest."

"So is the Bachelor," Calleigh reasoned, before setting her cards down with a sigh. "I fold."

"I'm sorry, no," Eric chuckled, tossing a few chips into the center and swigged his beer. "No, its not. Call."

"It is so," Rob insisted, raising as well. "Have you _seen_ the show? Those girls compete."

"Rob, man, it's _really_ not," Tucker chuckled, showing his cards. "Flush, Ace high."

Charlotte sighed. "Three of a kind. Nines."

"Aww," Bryan cooed sarcastically, having taken up heckling after he folded early with a crap hand. Charlotte threw a napkin In his direction and glared playfully.

"Three tens," Eric conceded, tossing his cards down.

"Full house," Rob announced proudly, setting his cards down and reaching for his winnings as Tucker cursed his disappointment. "And I can give you Amazing Race, but I would like to call out Mr. I-Can't-Believe-You-Call-My-Sisters-After-The-Bachelor on the hours of Food Network Challenge and Iron Chef on our DVR. Those are reality TV, Bry."

"Again, contest," Bryan argued, tossing his cards toward Charlotte.

"American Idol is a contest," she reasoned, shuffling the cards as they were passed her way. "And it is definitely reality TV."

"American Idol is a _popularity_ contest," Bry insisted, pushing his chair out and standing. "There's a difference. And we have spent entirely too much time on this conversation, so I'm going to go grab another round of beers and when I get back, I want us to be talking about world events or literature or something."

"Kill joy!" Charlotte taunted, swatting at him playfully as he passed.

~//~

"So how do you guys feel about Vermont?"

"Mm. Two words," Calleigh smirked. "Ben. And Jerry."

"Oh, my two favorite men," Charlotte sighed, gathering her winnings as everyone slid their cards to Calleigh. "Vermont is all good in my book. Why do you ask, Bry?"

"We're thinking of having a little... family vacation there," Bryan explained carefully. "Say… next fall?"

"Are we gettin' a cottage?" Charlotte grinned, tipping back the last of her beer and looking just a little bit flushed. "You know I always wanted a cottage. Somewhere in the woods, in a part of the country that isn't so God-awful hot and humid. With a big yard, and lots of trees, where I could easily lose my children and blame the bears."

"Charlie!" Tucker scolded with a laugh, earning himself a glare.

"They were monsters today, Tuck. Monsters," she excused with a wave of her hand. "And _what_ have I told you about calling me that?"

"That if I do it, I have to sleep on the couch?"

"That's right. On the couch, with no nookie, so I'd-"

"TMI," Bryan insisted, cutting her off. "T. M. I. I do _not_ want to hear the word 'nookie' in a sentence that references my brother. Ever."

"So, why Vermont?" Calleigh asked pointedly, trying to steer the conversation back on topic.

"Why not, Bry?" Charlotte's thumbnail scratched at the edge of the label on her empty bottle. "We're all adults."

"Because it's legal there," Rob supplied, winking at Calleigh and watching the look of understanding dawn on her face.

"Adults, yes. But-"

"You tellin' me you never swapped triumphant tales of your many conquests with your brother?"

"Actually, no. I don't think my conquests would have interested Tucker all that much."

"You're getting _married?_" Calleigh asked, grinning and reaching over to wrap Rob in a tight hug. "That's fantastic!"

"Wait – what?" Charlotte slapped her gaze between Bryan and Rob. "When did this happen? Where was I?"

"Talking about my manly sexual prowess," Tucker smirked, and Bryan pitched a poker chip at his head in protest. He wasn't quite quick enough to dodge this time. "Okay, really? First Calleigh and now you? Is there a bull's-eye on my forehead?"

"Hasn't there always been?"

"What did I miss?" Eric asked, returning from a bathroom break with a pit stop by the fridge on his return trip for another round of beer.

"Ace and Gary over here are gettin' hitched, Tucker is narrowly avoiding projectiles again, Bryan's being a prude, and I'm throwing my children to the wolves."

Eric arched an eyebrow at Calleigh. "And what are you up to?"

She held up the deck of cards, shuffled with a flourish. "I'm just dealing."

"Which one of us is Ace and which is Gary?" Rob wondered aloud, grinning and popping the top off his beer as Eric dropped a kiss against Calleigh's lips and settled back into the open chair next to her.

Charlotte snorted a laugh, wiggling her brows at Rob. "Depends. Who's better at drivin' stick?"

"Okay, Dirty and Dirty, could you knock it off for five minutes? I'd like to have a serious conversation with my brother about his upcoming nuptials," Tucker chuckled, nudging his wife with an elbow.

"Who actually says 'nuptials?'" Charlotte sneered cheerfully, swigging from a fresh bottle.

"I do; now hush."

"You know, Calleigh Jo," Rob piped up, making Tucker roll his eyes in Bryan's direction. "You're the only Duquesne baby left without a ring on their finger."

"Oh, for God's sake," Calleigh groaned, shaking her head and beginning to deal the cards.

"Not true," Charlotte insisted, pointing her bottle at her brother-in-law. "Tyler and Gracie are still single."

"I don't know," Tucker grinned, apparently having accepted the futility of trying to keep on topic. "Logan Harrison has quite a crush on Gracie, according to the pre-school moms. She might beat you to the altar, CJ, if you don't pick up the pace."

He slid a glance over to Eric, eyeing him appraisingly, and Calleigh felt her cheeks go hot. Eric, for his part, seemed to be mostly unruffled, a low chuckle as he studied his cards the only indication that he was even listening.

"Hey, I have an idea!" Calleigh announced, a little too brightly, her accent thicker after days of home and bottles of beer. "Why don't we call mom right now, put her on speaker. Let her turn the pressure cooker up a bit more. I mean, y'all are singin' that song she's been crowing endlessly since the day I turned thirty; it's only fair she get the solo."

"Nah, she's probably asleep by now," Tucker grinned, picking up his cards. "Besides, I think it's high time I got my night in the spotlight. So." He flicked his gaze back up. "Eric."

"Don't," Calleigh warned, shooting her brother a death glare that may or may not have been genetically passed down through the Duquesne family tree.

"How long do we have to wait until you ask my baby sister to just-"

"_Tucker_."

"-give in and-"

"Nookie," Charlotte sing-songed warningly, offering Calleigh a playful salute a moment later when Tucker's mouth snapped shut mid-sentence. "I got your back, babygirl."

"If I tell you that now," Eric began gamely, smirking at Tucker, "She won't be surprised when I ask."

"Well, ain't that the mother of all cliffhangers," Charlotte drawled, leveling her sister-in-law with a wide grin as her bottle plunked hard onto the table, and Calleigh choked hard on a mouthful of beer.

~//~

Another beer and three lost hands later, Calleigh excused herself to the upstairs bathroom – Charlotte was currently "emptying the tank," as she so demurely (and drunkenly) put it, in the one next to the kitchen. She did her business, splashed some water on a face that looked happy and healthy for the first time in weeks, and nearly jumped out of her skin when she opened the door to find a disheveled toddler silhouetted in the light creeping up from the stairwell.

After she caught her breath, hand pressed to her heart to still the hard knock-knock-knocking, she smiled at her niece and squatted down to eye level. "Hey, Gracie."

Big green eyes blinked sleepily at her before Gracie lifted one fist to rub against them, turning her hand out and wiggling her fingers in a wave. "Hi."

The combination of the wave and the half-fallen Pebbles ponytail on the top of her head made Calleigh's heart flop over. Maybe she was biased, but Calleigh was fairly certain that her niece was the most adorable girl on the planet. "I thought you were asleep."

"Firsty," Gracie mumbled, holding her arms out to be picked up.

"Ah," Calleigh nodded knowingly, straightening back up and lifting her niece to rest on her hip. Gracie's head immediately dropped to her shoulder, wispy curls tickling against her neck. "I see. Well, why don't we get your some water."

"Nooo," she whined, squirming slightly in Calleigh's arms. "Lem'nade."

"No, sweetie, it's too late for lemonade." Calleigh ignored the way the tiny body twisted in protest. Typical Gracie. "But I bet we could put some water in your princess cup."

She stilled immediately, cuddling back into Calleigh's torso. "'Rella."

"Yeah, Cinderella," Calleigh murmured quietly, heading for the stairs and navigating them carefully as the room tilted just a little from alcohol and fatigue. "And Belle is on the cup, right?" Gracie nodded, tucking her thumb into her mouth and mumbling something completely unintelligible around it. "Mmhmm. And Ariel?" Another nod, and they were halfway to the kitchen, where someone had clearly just made a good joke (or a good fool of themselves) if the raucous laughter was any indication.

Charlotte was just settling into an amused chuckle when Calleigh and Gracie made their way into the kitchen. She spotted them, froze, blinked twice, then asked with a scowl, "Where did you get that? Put that _back_."

"Huh?"

"I put her away hours ago; why is she up?"

"Charlotte!" Tucker snickered, nudging his chin against his wife's shoulder. He wasn't nearly as far gone as Charlotte, but Calleigh could tell he wasn't really sober either. Not that she was one to talk… "Don't talk about her like that. She's our daughter."

"She is. She is our daughter. She is our daughter who spent half the day wailing, and the other half running around like a Tasmanian devil, and I put her to bed _hours_ ago for grown-up time." She reached for her beer, raised it before taking a sip. "21 and up, Gracie. No beer for you. Only room for one drunk blonde sleepin' here tonight, and Mama has already submitted her application."

Calleigh couldn't help but laugh, catching Eric's eye with a shake of her head. Charlotte had muttered something early in the evening about her intentions to get good and drunk tonight, and she'd done a bang up job of making it happen. "Don't worry about it, Charlotte. I've got her covered. You keep drinkin.'"

"Like I needed your permission. You're drunk, too," Charlotte accused, scowl melting into a sudden grin for reasons unknown.

"Buzzed," Calleigh corrected. "Not drunk. You're the one wearing the drunk crown tonight."

"Oh, there _should_ be a crown," Charlotte agreed, nodding and grinning.

"Crown?" Gracie asked, her head popping up fast enough to make her ponytail bobble. "'Rella wears crown. 'M firsty!"

"I know, sweetie," Calleigh soothed, rubbing Gracie's back and heading for the kiddie cup cupboard. "We're going to get you your princess cup, and fill it all up with water-"

"The hell you are," Charlotte muttered. "Half way, no more. You fill that thing to the top and she's gonna wet right through that diaper, and I just put fresh sheets in the crib this morning."

"No crib! Big girl bed!" Gracie insisted, sleepy scowl going toe-to-toe with her mama's mostly-drunken one.

Charlotte looked like she might be about to say something before Tucker interrupted. "No, babygirl. You know the rules – if you get out of the big girl bed after hugs and kisses, you have to go in the crib."

Gracie's scowl twisted, going that precise combination of angry and despairing that only toddlers can really manage. "Big girl!" she wailed, drawing it out into a loud, sobbing wind up to a tantrum. "Big girl bed! Gigi's a big girl!"

"Oh, Jesus," Charlotte groaned, dropping her head back and her eyes closed. "Gigi's gonna drive her Mama into an early grave."

"Gigi?" Bryan asked, quirking a brow and idly shuffling the cards.

"Yes. Gigi," Charlotte sighed, exasperated. "I gave her a perfectly lovely name – Clara Grace. It's a pretty name. It's a delightful, feminine, respectable name. But she hasn't quite mastered 'Gracie' yet, so she has recently dubbed herself Gigi. _Gigi_. Sounds like a French hooker. Gigi the Paris Streetwalker. Works in a bordello, swills booze with sailors, and gets all her profits stolen by some overbearing Madame-"

"Oh my _God_, you're drunk," Rob laughed, shaking his head at Charlotte. "You only go on these inane soliloquies when you are three sheets to the wind."

"Not three," Charlotte insisted, holding up a finger. "Maybe two." A second finger popped up as she shook her head. "Not three."

Calleigh met Rob's eye over the toddler still wailing into her shoulder about her big girl bed, mouthing a silent "wow," and laughing as she turned the tap on, sliding the cup underneath.

"Gracie," Tucker spoke up calmly, one hand maneuvering to rub the back of Charlotte's neck as Calleigh filled the princess cup to precisely half. "It's night-night time. Quiet voices."

One green eye peeked open and stared him down balefully. "You're gonna try to logic our two year old out of a tantrum? Have you met this child?"

"_Char_," he insisted quietly, pressing a soothing kiss to her brow as she muttered something about never getting the baby back to sleep now that she was good and well awake. "I'll take her," he murmured, moving to stand before Eric waved him back.

"You know what? You guys stay here," he suggested. "Calleigh and I will put her back down."

Charlotte's head popped back up, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight against the vertigo for a moment before blinking them open. "You'd do that?"

"Yeah, it's no problem. I have nieces; plenty of practice."

She flicked her gaze to Calleigh, who had managed to quiet Gracie down by giving her the cup. "Marry him. Marry this man. I mean it."

Calleigh rolled her eyes and nodded her head in the direction of the door, Eric following dutifully after her.

~//~

By the time Gracie was asleep again, Calleigh was half-dozing herself, curled next to Gracie in the big girl bed – which was only big if you were two. In your mid-thirties, it was a bit cramped, and she'd been a little afraid it might collapse under her weight before Eric had pointed out that she wasn't exactly heavy, and he'd parked himself on his niece's bed more than once for story time with no major disasters. So she'd relented at Gracie's request for snuggles, and read her a story from the book Eric propped on her hip. He'd turned the pages, read all the Prince's dialogue, and it had been so ridiculously domestic that Calleigh thought for a moment that maybe, just _maybe_, someday this could be her life. Kids, and a husband, and something quiet and normal that didn't involve guns and death and pain.

Gracie had nodded off somewhere in the last few pages, and now they were just laying there, quiet, Calleigh's fingers coasting along Gracie's arm to the rhythm of Eric's soothing strokes along her spine, over her shoulders, back down. It tickled, but she fought the urge to squirm, unwilling to wake the baby again.

"Stop that," she murmured after a few minutes. "It's gonna put me to sleep."

"Mm." She felt his lips on the back of her head, his fingers brushing her hair away from her neck to drop another kiss there. "You want to head out soon?"

"No. Yeah. Maybe." The rush of breath as he chuckled into her neck sent goosebumps flaring over her skin and she turned her head to smile at him. "What?"

"Can't make up your mind?"

"Well, I'm having fun," she reasoned. "And it's been so long since we've all been together, just us. But yeah… tired. And I'm sure Charlotte's sent that third sheet to the wind by now, so we'll be getting kicked out before too long."

He laughed again, and she couldn't fight the shiver this time, but Gracie did little more than sigh. "I like her."

"She likes you," Calleigh told him. She hadn't needed to ask to figure that much out. "They all do. You fit in well."

She watched his smile, slow and pleased. "Yeah?"

"Mmhmm." She tilted her chin up so he could kiss her softly, murmuring, "I knew you would."

"Almost didn't make it here," he reminded gently, and she just nodded, closed her eyes and let him rest his forehead against her. She didn't want to go there again, not right now.

Gracie stirred suddenly, letting out a little whine, and Eric's palm slid across Calleigh to rest on the toddler's belly as Calleigh murmured softly to her. She settled a moment later, and Calleigh kept her voice low when she told him, "She's a fusser. Always has been. Charlotte likes to say that she came out screaming and never stopped. Grew out of her colic and straight into temper tantrums. Tyler had been a pretty mild-mannered kid – high energy, but not really a handful – and then he had to compete with Gracie for attention. Now, they're both just nuts."

"They're kids," he reminded. "They're like that. Screaming and running around is what they do best."

"Yeah. It's just hard on Charlotte, I think. Especially the last few months. She and Clara were close, so she ended up shouldering a lot of the whole process of moving her into assisted living, and making sure the house was taken care of, and then the kids all day on top of that. I can't imagine working from home, with two little kids running around all day."

"You could handle it."

She shook her head, chuckled a little. "No way. I'd go stir crazy if I wasn't in the lab, out in the field. I need my time."

"Yeah," he smirked. "You're right, I guess. Still, I think you'd be a good mom."

A smile tugged the corner of her lip for just a moment before slipping away as she studied his face, his eyes. He meant it, she knew. But more than that, she was beginning to get the feeling that he meant she'd be a good mom to _his_ kids. All in all, it wasn't a bad idea, but it probably wasn't something she should be thinking about when she was tipsy and they were on the rocks. So she just smiled again, and told him, "So would you."

"Be a good mom?" he teased, chuckling slightly, and she rolled her eyes.

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, still smiling as he pressed his lips to hers again, dotted a kiss onto her nose, another on her forehead.

As much as she was enjoying the quiet, the affection, she couldn't help her reluctant, "We should go back downstairs."

Eric nodded toward Gracie. "Is she out for good?"

"Yeah, I think so."

He reached over and lifted Gracie's arm carefully, then let it drop. It fell with a heavy thud; Gracie stayed dead asleep. "Oh yeah," he grinned. "She's definitely out."

~//~

"You know what I think," Charlotte mused slowly, fingertip on the lip of her empty bottle, tipping until it balanced precariously, then letting it settle back down before repeating the process.

"I think you're gonna spill your beer," Bryan grinned, tucking the poker chips back into their holder as Rob tucked the cards back into their deck and Calleigh cleared the landscape of longnecks from the table.

Charlotte picked up her bottle, lifted it toward Bryan in what might have been a toast, and handed it to Calleigh as she made her way toward the sink with the empties. "Too late for that, Bry. I already drank my beer."

Rob snorted a laugh, shaking his head before asking her, "What do you think, my little Georgia peach?"

Charlotte turned immediately to Tucker. "_That_. See? _That_ is an appropriate nickname for a girl like me."

"I think Drunky McGee is an appropriate nickname for a girl like you," Calleigh teased from the other side of the kitchen, earning herself a half-assed glare.

"Shut up, Calleigh." Charlotte's grin took all the punch out of the words.

"_What_ do you _think_?" Rob asked again, rolling his eyes when Charlotte just frowned at him.

"About what?"

"Oh for God's sake," Tucker laughed, reaching over to rub the back of his wife's neck again. "You said you were thinkin' something."

"I did?" She frowned in thought, brows pulling together before shooting up in realization. "I did! Yes. I did. I was."

Still over by the sink, Calleigh buried her face into Eric's shoulder to stifle her laughter. Eric hid his behind the façade of a kiss to her hair.

"I was thinking," Charlotte began again. "That you and Rob – Bryan and Rob – should spend the night at Clara's house with Calleigh and Eric."

Bryan scowled, shaking his head, while Calleigh tried to figure out which two of the four of them were sober enough to drive. Thank God the house wasn't far. "Why would we do that, Charlotte?"

"Because…" Charlotte settled her elbow on the table, leaned in on them slightly. "My son is away, my daughter is asleep, and I would like to get properly laid."

Calleigh's laugh came on so fast that there wasn't time to muffle it behind Eric, but she needn't have bothered – she certainly wasn't the only one who had dissolved into amused snickering.

"Charlotte!" Tucker laughed, giving her a playful shove that nearly sent her off her chair before her reflexes kicked in to balance her.

"What? This is good for you, too, mister!"

"Charlotte, you are never gonna make it to sex," Rob argued, eyeing her appraisingly. "You're so drunk, you'll be out the minute you hit the mattress."

"Not true." She held up a finger again, then pointed it at Rob. It bobbed slightly, and she narrowed her eyes in an attempt to keep it trained on his face. "Not. True. My kids are away, I can get you two losers out of my house; this is the only alone time Tucker and I get and I intend to use it well."

"Calleigh and I will take the kids tomorrow night," Eric offered out of nowhere, earning a jab in the ribs and wide, threatening eyes from his girlfriend. "Both of them. You can, uh, have the night to yourselves."

Charlotte jaw nearly dropped, her body straightening slightly in her seat. "You'd do that?"

"We'd do that?" Calleigh echoed in a low hiss.

"Sure." He smiled at Charlotte, grinned down at Calleigh. "It'll be fun."

Charlotte cackled, shaking her head and settling back in her chair. "Yeah, you say that now. Tyler has t-ball tomorrow night. Over at Harper's Field." She shifted her gaze to her sister-in-law, either oblivious to the look on her face or just not giving a damn. "You remember how to get there?"

"I do," Calleigh answered slowly, mentally ticking off ways she could make Eric pay for this. She'd been thinking she'd cook dinner, go through boxes, have a quiet night with her boyfriend. Not chase her adorable-but-insane niece and nephew around a baseball field all night.

"Well then, that's that." Still grinning like she'd won the jackpot, Charlotte kicked Rob lightly under the table. "You two can stay." Her gaze slid to Calleigh and Eric. "You two go rest up."

They made it all the way through their goodbyes, into the car, and halfway down the drive before Calleigh whirled on Eric. "You are in so much trouble."

Eric just shrugged a shoulder and grinned.


	12. Chapter 11 Duplicate

**Author's Note:** This is the complete Chapter 11 -- apparently all my muse needed was for me to publicly admit it had left me. heh Look for Chapter 12 soon!

* * *

"So." Charlotte settled next to Eric on the porch swing, having passed Gracie off to Calleigh for a turn on the tire swing while the Duquesne boys fired up the grill and prepped the burgers. "Eric Delko."

"Charlotte Duquesne," he answered in kind, his boyish smile giving Charlotte an idea of just what may have gotten Calleigh all smitten in the first place.

"In a minute, I'm going to make you tell me everything there is to know about you-" He smirked, she answered in kind. "But for now, I just need to know one thing."

"Okay."

She nodded toward Calleigh, who was helping Rob get the grill started. "She alright?"

Charlotte watched his gaze flick to Calleigh and soften, going a little thoughtful, a little concerned, a lot in love. "Yeah," he finally answered quietly. "She will be, anyway. She just needs to… work some things out."

"You'll make sure she does." It wasn't really an order, wasn't really a statement, definitely wasn't a question.

"Yeah. I will." He took a long, slow sip from his bottle as they sat in comfortable silence for a moment. "Thanks, by the way."

"For?" She knew the answer, but she played the part anyway.

"Badgering her."

Charlotte's lips curved into a sly smirk, and she chuckled quietly. "My pleasure. She ever gets her head stuck up her ass like that again, don't you hesitate to call, alright? We can gang up on her until she sees sense."

It was his turn to chuckle, and then nod gamely. "Okay. But let's not tell her that."

"Definitely not," Charlotte agreed, before knocking her bottle lightly against his, toasting, "To secret alliances for the sake of everyone's sanity."

Another easy laugh and Eric raised his bottle slightly. "I'll drink to that."

**~//~**

"Okay, do we have to talk about this?"

"Absolutely," Eric grinned, earning himself a playful shove from Calleigh.

"Oh, come on, CJ," Tucker teased, sliding the first burger off the grill and onto a bun. "It's not every day you bring your boyfriends home. I think it's our brotherly duty to share these stories."

He passed the burger to Charlotte as she walked in from putting Gracie down for the night. Calleigh watched Charlotte hesitate, frown, glance pointedly at the plate of cheddar cheese slices she'd brought out just before heading upstairs.

"Right," Tuck chuckled sheepishly, turning with the burger, "Uh, who wants-"

Rob snatched the plate from his hands, saluted and headed over to the table to grab the ketchup. "Back left," he told Charlotte, who glanced at the grill and smiled.

"Shoulda married you instead," she teased, sipping at her beer as Tucker feigned offense. "Oh, what," she sneered as he huffed. "We've been together how long? How many nights of burgers on the grill, and you still don't get it right? Rob's been in the picture for two years, and he's already got your ass covered."

Tucker grinned, looped a finger into a belt loop and tugged her closer, pressing a short kiss to her lips. "I remember all the important things," he insisted, and Charlotte rolled her eyes before letting him kiss her again. And again.

Bryan was the first to pipe up, after about fifteen seconds of smooches. "You two wanna get a room or something? 'Cause we can handle the water park story without you, Tuck."

Damnit. Calleigh was hoping they'd managed to distract themselves from that one. No such luck, though. Definitely not, as Charlotte cackled and nudged Tucker back to the grill. "Which one? Jared Shepherd or the bikini incident?"

"Oh, God," Calleigh groaned, reaching for her beer and drinking deep as she watched Eric's eyes light up. They were going to tell them both now, she just knew it.

"Oh man, I forgot all about the bikini," Bryan grinned, taking the next burger and passing it to Eric.

"Forgot about it?" Charlotte laughed incredulously. "It's the most embarrassing one! I mean, come on, flirting your way to a lungful a pool water is nothing compared to public nudity at age fifteen."

"Public nudity?" Eric asked, grin splitting wide as he turned to face her fully. "I never knew you had an exhibitionist streak."

"Oh believe me, I don't," Calleigh insisted, feeling her cheeks heat slightly with embarrassment. "And I'm not sure you have the right to be so excited about these stories, Charlotte, on account of you weren't around when they happened."

"Well, I was," Bryan grinned, explaining before she could cut him off, "Tucker yanked one of her bikini strings in the wave pool and she lost the whole top on the next surge."

"_I knew it!_" Calleigh accused, ignoring the burger set in front of her as she whirled toward Tucker in a flash of temper. "I _knew_ you pulled the string!"

"Thanks a lot, Bry," Tucker muttered, narrowly missing the bottle cap that Calleigh pitched at his head.

"What—I thought you knew," he said to Calleigh, looking genuinely surprised before flicking his gaze apologetically to his brother. "I thought she knew."

"Yeah, no, Bryan," Tucker corrected, but that shit-eater grin was back "We'd managed to keep that one a secret so far."

"Oops."

**~//~**

Calleigh found Charlotte in the kitchen, one hand gripping the bottom shelf of an open cupboard, the other braced on the countertop. She could tell by the slump and tremor of her shoulders that she was crying, the tears on her face as she glanced up serving as superfluous confirmation.

"Hey," she managed, voice cracking as she pulled her hand out of the cupboard, and Calleigh felt her own eyes prickle when she caught sight of the pink ceramic clutched in Charlotte's fingers.

"Is that..?"

Charlotte nodded, settled the salt and pepper shakers on the counter as Calleigh moved to lean next to her. "I forgot they were even here," she managed, shaking her head slightly and brushing at her tears with a forced smile as Calleigh traced a fingertip over the back of one pink pig. The pepper shaker, from the single hole on the top of its head. It interlocked with a salt shaker pig – three holes in this one – their bodies draped across each other like they were napping. "Gracie loved 'em so much – you know how she is about pigs. Gran let her bring them home one day, and they ended up shoved way in back up here. I came in lookin' for a fresh box of matches, and…"

Charlotte trailed off, shaking her head and knuckling her tears away again. Calleigh swallowed against the lump in her throat and bit her lip hard when a blink sent the first tears rolling down her own cheeks. "Yeah" was all she could think to say. Charlotte's hand fell on top of hers and squeezed hard, the shakers clutched under both of them. "I can't believe she's not here anymore," Calleigh breathed, shaking her head. "But at the same time… I mean… I…" She wasn't sure what exactly she was trying to articulate, so she simply gave up. "This shouldn't be so hard. It's not like it was… sudden."

"Doesn't make it any less final," Charlotte pointed out, pulsing her hand against Calleigh's.

Another hollow "yeah" ushered in a few moments of painful silence. Calleigh's chest felt tight, heavy, like she'd had the breath knocked out of her. Charlotte didn't look like she was faring any better. They both jumped slightly when the door to the back porch opened up, Eric striding in and then stopping short at the sight of them.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'll, uh-" He gestured for the door, and started to turn back the way he'd come, but Calleigh shook her head.

"No. It's okay. Stay." She slid her hand from under Charlotte's, holding it out for Eric and taking a step closer to meet him halfway. When he grasped her fingers, she used her grip to pull him close, then wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his collar. His arms settled around her shoulders, holding her close and rocking her slightly, and Calleigh felt the tight knot of grief in her chest begin to unspool slightly.

Behind her, Charlotte said something about checking on Gracie, then excused herself from the room. Calleigh just shut her eyes and kept breathing.

~//~

"Honey, you can't make blanket statements like 'all reality TV sucks' when you're more devoted to The Amazing Race than to religion and family," Charlotte argued, tossing a few chips into the center of the table. "And I raise."

"Okay, but The Amazing Race is _good_ reality TV," Bryan cut in, defending his brother. "It's a contest."

"So is the Bachelor," Calleigh reasoned, before setting her cards down with a sigh. "I fold."

"I'm sorry, no," Eric chuckled, tossing a few chips into the center and swigged his beer. "No, its not. Call."

"It is so," Rob insisted, raising as well. "Have you _seen_ the show? Those girls compete."

"Rob, man, it's _really_ not," Tucker chuckled, showing his cards. "Flush, Ace high."

Charlotte sighed. "Three of a kind. Nines."

"Aww," Bryan cooed sarcastically, having taken up heckling after he folded early with a crap hand. Charlotte threw a napkin In his direction and glared playfully.

"Three tens," Eric conceded, tossing his cards down.

"Full house," Rob announced proudly, setting his cards down and reaching for his winnings as Tucker cursed his disappointment. "And I can give you Amazing Race, but I would like to call out Mr. I-Can't-Believe-You-Call-My-Sisters-After-The-Bachelor on the hours of Food Network Challenge and Iron Chef on our DVR. Those are reality TV, Bry."

"Again, contest," Bryan argued, tossing his cards toward Charlotte.

"American Idol is a contest," she reasoned, shuffling the cards as they were passed her way. "And it is definitely reality TV."

"American Idol is a _popularity_ contest," Bry insisted, pushing his chair out and standing. "There's a difference. And we have spent entirely too much time on this conversation, so I'm going to go grab another round of beers and when I get back, I want us to be talking about world events or literature or something."

"Kill joy!" Charlotte taunted, swatting at him playfully as he passed.

~//~

"So how do you guys feel about Vermont?"

"Mm. Two words," Calleigh smirked. "Ben. And Jerry."

"Oh, my two favorite men," Charlotte sighed, gathering her winnings as everyone slid their cards to Calleigh. "Vermont is all good in my book. Why do you ask, Bry?"

"We're thinking of having a little... family vacation there," Bryan explained carefully. "Say… next fall?"

"Are we gettin' a cottage?" Charlotte grinned, tipping back the last of her beer and looking just a little bit flushed. "You know I always wanted a cottage. Somewhere in the woods, in a part of the country that isn't so God-awful hot and humid. With a big yard, and lots of trees, where I could easily lose my children and blame the bears."

"Charlie!" Tucker scolded with a laugh, earning himself a glare.

"They were monsters today, Tuck. Monsters," she excused with a wave of her hand. "And _what_ have I told you about calling me that?"

"That if I do it, I have to sleep on the couch?"

"That's right. On the couch, with no nookie, so I'd-"

"TMI," Bryan insisted, cutting her off. "T. M. I. I do _not_ want to hear the word 'nookie' in a sentence that references my brother. Ever."

"So, why Vermont?" Calleigh asked pointedly, trying to steer the conversation back on topic.

"Why not, Bry?" Charlotte's thumbnail scratched at the edge of the label on her empty bottle. "We're all adults."

"Because it's legal there," Rob supplied, winking at Calleigh and watching the look of understanding dawn on her face.

"Adults, yes. But-"

"You tellin' me you never swapped triumphant tales of your many conquests with your brother?"

"Actually, no. I don't think my conquests would have interested Tucker all that much."

"You're getting _married?_" Calleigh asked, grinning and reaching over to wrap Rob in a tight hug. "That's fantastic!"

"Wait – what?" Charlotte slapped her gaze between Bryan and Rob. "When did this happen? Where was I?"

"Talking about my manly sexual prowess," Tucker smirked, and Bryan pitched a poker chip at his head in protest. He wasn't quite quick enough to dodge this time. "Okay, really? First Calleigh and now you? Is there a bull's-eye on my forehead?"

"Hasn't there always been?"

"What did I miss?" Eric asked, returning from a bathroom break with a pit stop by the fridge on his return trip for another round of beer.

"Ace and Gary over here are gettin' hitched, Tucker is narrowly avoiding projectiles again, Bryan's being a prude, and I'm throwing my children to the wolves."

Eric arched an eyebrow at Calleigh. "And what are you up to?"

She held up the deck of cards, shuffled with a flourish. "I'm just dealing."

"Which one of us is Ace and which is Gary?" Rob wondered aloud, grinning and popping the top off his beer as Eric dropped a kiss against Calleigh's lips and settled back into the open chair next to her.

Charlotte snorted a laugh, wiggling her brows at Rob. "Depends. Who's better at drivin' stick?"

"Okay, Dirty and Dirty, could you knock it off for five minutes? I'd like to have a serious conversation with my brother about his upcoming nuptials," Tucker chuckled, nudging his wife with an elbow.

"Who actually says 'nuptials?'" Charlotte sneered cheerfully, swigging from a fresh bottle.

"I do; now hush."

"You know, Calleigh Jo," Rob piped up, making Tucker roll his eyes in Bryan's direction. "You're the only Duquesne baby left without a ring on their finger."

"Oh, for God's sake," Calleigh groaned, shaking her head and beginning to deal the cards.

"Not true," Charlotte insisted, pointing her bottle at her brother-in-law. "Tyler and Gracie are still single."

"I don't know," Tucker grinned, apparently having accepted the futility of trying to keep on topic. "Logan Harrison has quite a crush on Gracie, according to the pre-school moms. She might beat you to the altar, CJ, if you don't pick up the pace."

He slid a glance over to Eric, eyeing him appraisingly, and Calleigh felt her cheeks go hot. Eric, for his part, seemed to be mostly unruffled, a low chuckle as he studied his cards the only indication that he was even listening.

"Hey, I have an idea!" Calleigh announced, a little too brightly, her accent thicker after days of home and bottles of beer. "Why don't we call mom right now, put her on speaker. Let her turn the pressure cooker up a bit more. I mean, y'all are singin' that song she's been crowing endlessly since the day I turned thirty; it's only fair she get the solo."

"Nah, she's probably asleep by now," Tucker grinned, picking up his cards. "Besides, I think it's high time I got my night in the spotlight. So." He flicked his gaze back up. "Eric."

"Don't," Calleigh warned, shooting her brother a death glare that may or may not have been genetically passed down through the Duquesne family tree.

"How long do we have to wait until you ask my baby sister to just-"

"_Tucker_."

"-give in and-"

"Nookie," Charlotte sing-songed warningly, offering Calleigh a playful salute a moment later when Tucker's mouth snapped shut mid-sentence. "I got your back, babygirl."

"If I tell you that now," Eric began gamely, smirking at Tucker, "She won't be surprised when I ask."

"Well, ain't that the mother of all cliffhangers," Charlotte drawled, leveling her sister-in-law with a wide grin as her bottle plunked hard onto the table, and Calleigh choked hard on a mouthful of beer.

~//~

Another beer and three lost hands later, Calleigh excused herself to the upstairs bathroom – Charlotte was currently "emptying the tank," as she so demurely (and drunkenly) put it, in the one next to the kitchen. She did her business, splashed some water on a face that looked happy and healthy for the first time in weeks, and nearly jumped out of her skin when she opened the door to find a disheveled toddler silhouetted in the light creeping up from the stairwell.

After she caught her breath, hand pressed to her heart to still the hard knock-knock-knocking, she smiled at her niece and squatted down to eye level. "Hey, Gracie."

Big green eyes blinked sleepily at her before Gracie lifted one fist to rub against them, turning her hand out and wiggling her fingers in a wave. "Hi."

The combination of the wave and the half-fallen Pebbles ponytail on the top of her head made Calleigh's heart flop over. Maybe she was biased, but Calleigh was fairly certain that her niece was the most adorable girl on the planet. "I thought you were asleep."

"Firsty," Gracie mumbled, holding her arms out to be picked up.

"Ah," Calleigh nodded knowingly, straightening back up and lifting her niece to rest on her hip. Gracie's head immediately dropped to her shoulder, wispy curls tickling against her neck. "I see. Well, why don't we get your some water."

"Nooo," she whined, squirming slightly in Calleigh's arms. "Lem'nade."

"No, sweetie, it's too late for lemonade." Calleigh ignored the way the tiny body twisted in protest. Typical Gracie. "But I bet we could put some water in your princess cup."

She stilled immediately, cuddling back into Calleigh's torso. "'Rella."

"Yeah, Cinderella," Calleigh murmured quietly, heading for the stairs and navigating them carefully as the room tilted just a little from alcohol and fatigue. "And Belle is on the cup, right?" Gracie nodded, tucking her thumb into her mouth and mumbling something completely unintelligible around it. "Mmhmm. And Ariel?" Another nod, and they were halfway to the kitchen, where someone had clearly just made a good joke (or a good fool of themselves) if the raucous laughter was any indication.

Charlotte was just settling into an amused chuckle when Calleigh and Gracie made their way into the kitchen. She spotted them, froze, blinked twice, then asked with a scowl, "Where did you get that? Put that _back_."

"Huh?"

"I put her away hours ago; why is she up?"

"Charlotte!" Tucker snickered, nudging his chin against his wife's shoulder. He wasn't nearly as far gone as Charlotte, but Calleigh could tell he wasn't really sober either. Not that she was one to talk… "Don't talk about her like that. She's our daughter."

"She is. She is our daughter. She is our daughter who spent half the day wailing, and the other half running around like a Tasmanian devil, and I put her to bed _hours_ ago for grown-up time." She reached for her beer, raised it before taking a sip. "21 and up, Gracie. No beer for you. Only room for one drunk blonde sleepin' here tonight, and Mama has already submitted her application."

Calleigh couldn't help but laugh, catching Eric's eye with a shake of her head. Charlotte had muttered something early in the evening about her intentions to get good and drunk tonight, and she'd done a bang up job of making it happen. "Don't worry about it, Charlotte. I've got her covered. You keep drinkin.'"

"Like I needed your permission. You're drunk, too," Charlotte accused, scowl melting into a sudden grin for reasons unknown.

"Buzzed," Calleigh corrected. "Not drunk. You're the one wearing the drunk crown tonight."

"Oh, there _should_ be a crown," Charlotte agreed, nodding and grinning.

"Crown?" Gracie asked, her head popping up fast enough to make her ponytail bobble. "'Rella wears crown. 'M firsty!"

"I know, sweetie," Calleigh soothed, rubbing Gracie's back and heading for the kiddie cup cupboard. "We're going to get you your princess cup, and fill it all up with water-"

"The hell you are," Charlotte muttered. "Half way, no more. You fill that thing to the top and she's gonna wet right through that diaper, and I just put fresh sheets in the crib this morning."

"No crib! Big girl bed!" Gracie insisted, sleepy scowl going toe-to-toe with her mama's mostly-drunken one.

Charlotte looked like she might be about to say something before Tucker interrupted. "No, babygirl. You know the rules – if you get out of the big girl bed after hugs and kisses, you have to go in the crib."

Gracie's scowl twisted, going that precise combination of angry and despairing that only toddlers can really manage. "Big girl!" she wailed, drawing it out into a loud, sobbing wind up to a tantrum. "Big girl bed! Gigi's a big girl!"

"Oh, Jesus," Charlotte groaned, dropping her head back and her eyes closed. "Gigi's gonna drive her Mama into an early grave."

"Gigi?" Bryan asked, quirking a brow and idly shuffling the cards.

"Yes. Gigi," Charlotte sighed, exasperated. "I gave her a perfectly lovely name – Clara Grace. It's a pretty name. It's a delightful, feminine, respectable name. But she hasn't quite mastered 'Gracie' yet, so she has recently dubbed herself Gigi. _Gigi_. Sounds like a French hooker. Gigi the Paris Streetwalker. Works in a bordello, swills booze with sailors, and gets all her profits stolen by some overbearing Madame-"

"Oh my _God_, you're drunk," Rob laughed, shaking his head at Charlotte. "You only go on these inane soliloquies when you are three sheets to the wind."

"Not three," Charlotte insisted, holding up a finger. "Maybe two." A second finger popped up as she shook her head. "Not three."

Calleigh met Rob's eye over the toddler still wailing into her shoulder about her big girl bed, mouthing a silent "wow," and laughing as she turned the tap on, sliding the cup underneath.

"Gracie," Tucker spoke up calmly, one hand maneuvering to rub the back of Charlotte's neck as Calleigh filled the princess cup to precisely half. "It's night-night time. Quiet voices."

One green eye peeked open and stared him down balefully. "You're gonna try to logic our two year old out of a tantrum? Have you met this child?"

"_Char_," he insisted quietly, pressing a soothing kiss to her brow as she muttered something about never getting the baby back to sleep now that she was good and well awake. "I'll take her," he murmured, moving to stand before Eric waved him back.

"You know what? You guys stay here," he suggested. "Calleigh and I will put her back down."

Charlotte's head popped back up, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight against the vertigo for a moment before blinking them open. "You'd do that?"

"Yeah, it's no problem. I have nieces; plenty of practice."

She flicked her gaze to Calleigh, who had managed to quiet Gracie down by giving her the cup. "Marry him. Marry this man. I mean it."

Calleigh rolled her eyes and nodded her head in the direction of the door, Eric following dutifully after her.

~//~

By the time Gracie was asleep again, Calleigh was half-dozing herself, curled next to Gracie in the big girl bed – which was only big if you were two. In your mid-thirties, it was a bit cramped, and she'd been a little afraid it might collapse under her weight before Eric had pointed out that she wasn't exactly heavy, and he'd parked himself on his niece's bed more than once for story time with no major disasters. So she'd relented at Gracie's request for snuggles, and read her a story from the book Eric propped on her hip. He'd turned the pages, read all the Prince's dialogue, and it had been so ridiculously domestic that Calleigh thought for a moment that maybe, just _maybe_, someday this could be her life. Kids, and a husband, and something quiet and normal that didn't involve guns and death and pain.

Gracie had nodded off somewhere in the last few pages, and now they were just laying there, quiet, Calleigh's fingers coasting along Gracie's arm to the rhythm of Eric's soothing strokes along her spine, over her shoulders, back down. It tickled, but she fought the urge to squirm, unwilling to wake the baby again.

"Stop that," she murmured after a few minutes. "It's gonna put me to sleep."

"Mm." She felt his lips on the back of her head, his fingers brushing her hair away from her neck to drop another kiss there. "You want to head out soon?"

"No. Yeah. Maybe." The rush of breath as he chuckled into her neck sent goosebumps flaring over her skin and she turned her head to smile at him. "What?"

"Can't make up your mind?"

"Well, I'm having fun," she reasoned. "And it's been so long since we've all been together, just us. But yeah… tired. And I'm sure Charlotte's sent that third sheet to the wind by now, so we'll be getting kicked out before too long."

He laughed again, and she couldn't fight the shiver this time, but Gracie did little more than sigh. "I like her."

"She likes you," Calleigh told him. She hadn't needed to ask to figure that much out. "They all do. You fit in well."

She watched his smile, slow and pleased. "Yeah?"

"Mmhmm." She tilted her chin up so he could kiss her softly, murmuring, "I knew you would."

"Almost didn't make it here," he reminded gently, and she just nodded, closed her eyes and let him rest his forehead against her. She didn't want to go there again, not right now.

Gracie stirred suddenly, letting out a little whine, and Eric's palm slid across Calleigh to rest on the toddler's belly as Calleigh murmured softly to her. She settled a moment later, and Calleigh kept her voice low when she told him, "She's a fusser. Always has been. Charlotte likes to say that she came out screaming and never stopped. Grew out of her colic and straight into temper tantrums. Tyler had been a pretty mild-mannered kid – high energy, but not really a handful – and then he had to compete with Gracie for attention. Now, they're both just nuts."

"They're kids," he reminded. "They're like that. Screaming and running around is what they do best."

"Yeah. It's just hard on Charlotte, I think. Especially the last few months. She and Clara were close, so she ended up shouldering a lot of the whole process of moving her into assisted living, and making sure the house was taken care of, and then the kids all day on top of that. I can't imagine working from home, with two little kids running around all day."

"You could handle it."

She shook her head, chuckled a little. "No way. I'd go stir crazy if I wasn't in the lab, out in the field. I need my time."

"Yeah," he smirked. "You're right, I guess. Still, I think you'd be a good mom."

A smile tugged the corner of her lip for just a moment before slipping away as she studied his face, his eyes. He meant it, she knew. But more than that, she was beginning to get the feeling that he meant she'd be a good mom to _his_ kids. All in all, it wasn't a bad idea, but it probably wasn't something she should be thinking about when she was tipsy and they were on the rocks. So she just smiled again, and told him, "So would you."

"Be a good mom?" he teased, chuckling slightly, and she rolled her eyes.

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, still smiling as he pressed his lips to hers again, dotted a kiss onto her nose, another on her forehead.

As much as she was enjoying the quiet, the affection, she couldn't help her reluctant, "We should go back downstairs."

Eric nodded toward Gracie. "Is she out for good?"

"Yeah, I think so."

He reached over and lifted Gracie's arm carefully, then let it drop. It fell with a heavy thud; Gracie stayed dead asleep. "Oh yeah," he grinned. "She's definitely out."

~//~

"You know what I think," Charlotte mused slowly, fingertip on the lip of her empty bottle, tipping until it balanced precariously, then letting it settle back down before repeating the process.

"I think you're gonna spill your beer," Bryan grinned, tucking the poker chips back into their holder as Rob tucked the cards back into their deck and Calleigh cleared the landscape of longnecks from the table.

Charlotte picked up her bottle, lifted it toward Bryan in what might have been a toast, and handed it to Calleigh as she made her way toward the sink with the empties. "Too late for that, Bry. I already drank my beer."

Rob snorted a laugh, shaking his head before asking her, "What do you think, my little Georgia peach?"

Charlotte turned immediately to Tucker. "_That_. See? _That_ is an appropriate nickname for a girl like me."

"I think Drunky McGee is an appropriate nickname for a girl like you," Calleigh teased from the other side of the kitchen, earning herself a half-assed glare.

"Shut up, Calleigh." Charlotte's grin took all the punch out of the words.

"_What_ do you _think_?" Rob asked again, rolling his eyes when Charlotte just frowned at him.

"About what?"

"Oh for God's sake," Tucker laughed, reaching over to rub the back of his wife's neck again. "You said you were thinkin' something."

"I did?" She frowned in thought, brows pulling together before shooting up in realization. "I did! Yes. I did. I was."

Still over by the sink, Calleigh buried her face into Eric's shoulder to stifle her laughter. Eric hid his behind the façade of a kiss to her hair.

"I was thinking," Charlotte began again. "That you and Rob – Bryan and Rob – should spend the night at Clara's house with Calleigh and Eric."

Bryan scowled, shaking his head, while Calleigh tried to figure out which two of the four of them were sober enough to drive. Thank God the house wasn't far. "Why would we do that, Charlotte?"

"Because…" Charlotte settled her elbow on the table, leaned in on them slightly. "My son is away, my daughter is asleep, and I would like to get properly laid."

Calleigh's laugh came on so fast that there wasn't time to muffle it behind Eric, but she needn't have bothered – she certainly wasn't the only one who had dissolved into amused snickering.

"Charlotte!" Tucker laughed, giving her a playful shove that nearly sent her off her chair before her reflexes kicked in to balance her.

"What? This is good for you, too, mister!"

"Charlotte, you are never gonna make it to sex," Rob argued, eyeing her appraisingly. "You're so drunk, you'll be out the minute you hit the mattress."

"Not true." She held up a finger again, then pointed it at Rob. It bobbed slightly, and she narrowed her eyes in an attempt to keep it trained on his face. "Not. True. My kids are away, I can get you two losers out of my house; this is the only alone time Tucker and I get and I intend to use it well."

"Calleigh and I will take the kids tomorrow night," Eric offered out of nowhere, earning a jab in the ribs and wide, threatening eyes from his girlfriend. "Both of them. You can, uh, have the night to yourselves."

Charlotte jaw nearly dropped, her body straightening slightly in her seat. "You'd do that?"

"We'd do that?" Calleigh echoed in a low hiss.

"Sure." He smiled at Charlotte, grinned down at Calleigh. "It'll be fun."

Charlotte cackled, shaking her head and settling back in her chair. "Yeah, you say that now. Tyler has t-ball tomorrow night. Over at Harper's Field." She shifted her gaze to her sister-in-law, either oblivious to the look on her face or just not giving a damn. "You remember how to get there?"

"I do," Calleigh answered slowly, mentally ticking off ways she could make Eric pay for this. She'd been thinking she'd cook dinner, go through boxes, have a quiet night with her boyfriend. Not chase her adorable-but-insane niece and nephew around a baseball field all night.

"Well then, that's that." Still grinning like she'd won the jackpot, Charlotte kicked Rob lightly under the table. "You two can stay." Her gaze slid to Calleigh and Eric. "You two go rest up."

They made it all the way through their goodbyes, into the car, and halfway down the drive before Calleigh whirled on Eric. "You are in so much trouble."

Eric just shrugged a shoulder and grinned.


	13. Fireflies

Eric woke in the morning to an empty bed – not really a rare occurrence where Calleigh was concerned. She'd always been the early riser, slipping out in the early morning, going for a run, putting the coffee on. Eric usually woke to the sound of the shower running, and the smell of cafe Cubano wafting from the kitchen.

This morning, he woke to the smell of flowers blooming outside the window and fresh (but muggy) air, and an almost eerie silence. He showered, headed downstairs, and still, not a peep. He'd almost convinced himself that she'd taken off to Charlotte's or something when he spied her – on the floor of a little office, toward the back of the first floor. He hadn't even noticed this room before, but the open door had caught his attention as he'd headed for the front porch, lukewarm, weak coffee in hand. But there she was, cross-legged on the floor and haloed by a ring of open photo albums.

"Morning," he greeted, voice sandpapery with lack of use.

Calleigh jumped, pressed a hand to her heart and breathed out, "Eric. I didn't hear you."

He shrugged a shoulder, leaned against the doorjamb. "I could say the same for you. I was starting to think you'd left me here to fend for myself."

"You make it sound like I'd be leaving you in the middle of the jungle," she teased, rolling her eyes. "There's food in the fridge – sandwich fixings, and bacon and eggs. You'd survive just fine if I'd left."

"I'm sure I'd manage. I do make a mean pb and j." They were smiling at each other now, for no good reason, but he liked it. They'd been short on smiles lately. Eric took a few steps closer, then peered down at one of the books splayed around her. "What are you looking at?"

"Oh." Calleigh waved a hand dismissively, but her fingers settled on the page of the nearest album, skimmed tenderly along the edge of a photo and he knew that these were anything but dismissible. "Just some old albums. I came in here to start going through stuff, box up some books, but I got distracted."

"Is that you?" he asked, pointing to the towhead blonde in pigtail braids, grinning hugely next to what looked like a much younger Kenwall Duquesne on one side, and a sleek dappled horse on the other.

"This one?" she asked, dropping a finger onto the photo. Eric nodded, then eagerly settled down beside him when she shifted a few albums to make room. "Yeah, that's me and my dad, and my horse, Ashes. I was ten."

"You were adorable."

"I was, wasn't I?"

Eric chuckled, then pointed to another picture – a little boy with a too-big ball cap on his head, and an awkward grip on a light-weight bat. "Bryan?"

"Yeah. He would've been seven that year. He was very into t-ball. Tucker played ball, and he idolized him so much back then. I'm pretty sure that was the year Tucker hit the ball straight into Gran's back window. He didn't quite have enough power to break the pane, but there was a crack in it for years. I asked her once, when I was older, why she never fixed it, and she said it always reminded her of us. Of when we were kids. She used to say life speeds up the older you get, and sometimes it's good to have a reminder to slow down and field the baseballs."

Eric watched as her chin quivered a little, and he slid one arm around her shoulders, tugged her close and squeezed. She let out a shaky breath, telling him, "I can't really believe she's gone. There's so much memory in this house, it's like she should be walking through the door any minute, gabbing about how there are biscuits to bake, and grandchildren to tend to, and what are we having for supper? She's the one that taught me how to cook real Southern food, you know. My mother burns half of what she puts on a stove, and Daddy's great with the barbeque. But the grits, and the biscuits, and the fried green tomatoes. That was all me and Gran."

"Mm. I guess I owe her a thank-you, huh? Sundays wouldn't be the same without her."

Calleigh shook her head, breathed, "No," in an even more pained whisper than before. "They wouldn't." Then she turned to him so suddenly she almost whacked her face into his. "You should've had the chance to meet her. I should've called you after my dad called, fight or no fight. I was selfish. And now you'll never know her, and..." She was crying for real now, tears welling in her eyes, and then spilling down her cheeks, breaking his heart on their way to her chin. She just looked so guilt-ridden and miserable, like she'd stolen something from him. She probably thought she had, but Eric's pretty sure the one she cheated was herself. He could live without ever knowing Clara Duquesne, but he's pretty sure Calleigh was having a rough time knowing Clara died never knowing him.

He brought his thumbs up to her face, wiping away the tears, and frowning as new ones fell in their place. "You were upset. It's alright."

Calleigh shook her head, and let Eric pull her to him again, this time nestling her face against his shoulder. "It isn't alright," she told him. "Nothing about this is alright." She was right, he thought. Nothing about death, and grief, and loss was okay, and nothing either of them had to say could make it any better. So he decided not to say anything.

He rubbed her back, slow, soothing strokes, and murmured all sorts of kind things to her that were meaningless as soon as they were said. She cried herself out, let some of that pent-up emotion out, and then, when she was calm again, he reached for the photo nearest photo album, and said, "Tell me about this one."

She wiped at the tears still clinging to her cheeks, and cleared her throat a little. "That's me and Billy Sanders. He had a crush on me for years. Finally got up the courage to ask me out in high school. He took me to..." She turned, searching for something, then dragged another album across her lap. "My junior prom. And I cannot believe I am voluntarily showing this to you."

Eric couldn't help it; he laughed out loud. "Wow." There she was in all her 80's fashion, a bright aquamarine strapless dress, and matching eyeshadow, and big, big hair. He can't believe she's voluntarily showing this to him either.

"Yeah. This was during my big Madonna phase. My mother insisted I go with something classy, so we have the sequined bodice here, which is very fancy. And, y'know, no eighties party dress is complete without the crinoline skirt. The eyeshadow, you may have noticed, matches the dress, and my lips are a color called Scarlet Hussy, which mama and I had a screaming match over because she thought girls who wore lipstick that color were bound to live up to the name."

"Did you?" he teased, wiggling his eyebrows at her suggestively.

"Absolutely not. I was a good girl. Mostly."

"Mostly, huh?"

"Well, I might have let him get to second base before insisting he get me home at a decent hour, so as not to incur the wrath of my father. He was more than happy to oblige, considering my father had pulled him aside when he picked me up, and, I'm pretty sure, threatened to remove his manhood with a shotgun if he dared sully the purity of his only daughter."

"Y'know, I'm not terribly surprised by that."

"Yeah, daddy scared off a couple of guys with that whole routine when I was younger. I hated him for it at the time, but in retrospect it's kind of sweet."

Eric just smiled, then pointed to the hair. "Can we talk about this?"

"Oh, Jesus. C'mon, Eric, it was the eighties. It's the South – the higher the hair, the closer to Jesus."

He laughed out loud at that, shaking his head. They spent the rest of the morning there, on the floor, flipping page by page through Calleigh's childhood. He saw her gap-toothed grin, first baby tooth held proudly in her palm. Her new roller skates in third grade – and the new cast that spent six weeks on her wrist after that. Her fifth grade talent contest (who knew she could juggle?), and seventh grade band concert. There were enough photos of her and Ashes over the years to fill an entire album on their own, he thought, and enough of her with her brothers for him to notice the way that even in her childhood, she seemed to be keeping an eye on them. On everyone, he thought to himself, catching sight of a photo of her and her dad next to a steak-covered grill. If this red cheeks and glassy eyes were any indication, Duke was a few sheets to the wind. Calleigh, not more than thirteen or fourteen, was standing next to him and smiling over his shoulder. Eric can't help but notice the smile doesn't reach her eyes, or that it's her hand on the tongs, not his, despite Duke's "Kiss the Cook" apron.

By noon, he'd seen her graduation photos – both college and high school. He hadn't realized how little he really knew about her until her whole history was laid out in front of him, and now that he knew, he wanted to know everything. Past, present, future, everything.

"_Before you met me I was a fairy princess  
I caught frogs and called them prince  
And made myself a queen  
Before you knew me I traveled 'round the world  
I slept in castles and fell in love  
Because i was taught to dream."_

_--"**Fireflies"  
Faith Hill**_


End file.
